Mossflower Odyssey III: The Lost Treasure of Captain Blade
by Redwall Survivor Contestants
Summary: Rumors say that on an uncharted island across the sea, the Pirate King Captain Blade left behind a treasure the likes of which no one has ever seen. But the island is not uninhabited and many sailors have either not returned or come home empty-pawed. Ten beasts shall soon set a course for the island in search of riches, but what could await them there? A Redwall Survivor Contest.
1. Prologue: Ghost Stories

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own characters' points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Prologue: Ghost Stories**

 _by: Airan_

* * *

The night was dark and a storm was brewing over the island of Terramort, all light from the stars and moon being completely obscured by the great billowing storm clouds as they bombarded the island below with freezing rain. Waves, pushed by the powerful winds of the ongoing gale, crashed into the grey, stone cliffs of the island and showered them with spray, the very few ships anchored in the harbor being rocked to and fro by their constant rhythm.

Leadbone the pirate pulled the hood of his cloak further over his ears, trying his hardest to shield himself from the storm as he made his way cautiously through what was left of Terramort's harbor. What was once the proud pirate capital of the seas was now in ruin, the many shops, taverns, and places of refuge for wavescum all broken and lying in scattered mounds of stone, glass, and rotten timber. Even the castle, once a symbol of power to all corsairs, was now reduced to rubble, a few of the spires the only parts left standing.

But, there was one place left, Leadbone knew, and, using only the constant flicker of lightning across the night sky to light his path, he made his way through the ruins of the harbor and towards a lone tavern that stood amongst it all. Warm light shone from the windows of the building and the rat could hear the muffled sound of somebeast playing a ditty on a fiddle within, inviting him to pull open the door with a loud creak and eagerly slide inside.

There was a time where _The Iron Curtain_ would have been completely filled with patrons from every corner of the seas, drinking grog and eating their fill, sharing stories of foreign lands and plunder, and resting from their harsh lives on the sea. But times were different now, and the six beasts within merely glanced up from their drinks at the rat's arrival, muttering whispers to each other about the identity of the newcomer. Leadbone shook rainwater from his whiskers, shooting them a look as he entered and hushing them all immediately. He took a seat at the bar.

The stoat behind it glanced over his shoulder from where he was polishing a set of glasses, raising a brow in interest. "Well, well, if it ain't ol' Leadbone," he said, dropping his work almost immediately and turning to face the rat. "'Ere for yer annual pint o' grog I assume?"

The corsair nodded. "Aye, the usual way I like it."

"Aye aye, yer majesty," the barkeep said as he grabbed one of the largest glasses he could find. " Ya know it ain't often we get royalty 'ere, let alone the second in c'mmand for Pirate King Captain Blade 'imself."

Leadbone scowled at that. "Ya should know not t' say 'is name like that. 'Tis bad luck."

The stoat gave a mock chuckle, filling the glass and setting it in front of the rat. He glanced around him at the sad state of the tavern. "Aye, yer right, but I don't see 'ow we could get any unluckier at this point. What with him dead an' all."

As if on cue, the door to _The Iron Curtain_ was heaved open and lightning crackled outside, illuminating a hulking beast standing in its frame. The beast stood there for a moment, pulling his cloak tighter around himself and holding his head down, before entering. The whole tavern shook with each of his heavy footsteps, the different bottles of grog and alcohol rattling against each other with a steady _tink, tink, tink._ The fiddler ceased playing his instrument, staring fearfully at the beast and daring not to move.

Leadbone didn't have to turn around to know who the newcomer was and he began to sink further into his stool, staring fearfully at the ripples in his drink grow larger as the beast approached him. The brute grunted as he removed his hood and took a seat next to the rat, adjusting his cloak and revealing the large broadsword sheathed at his belt.

The pirate rat gulped and turned his head, meeting the lone eye of Badgerlord of Salamandastron, Atlas Stormstripe.

To say the badger was intimidating would have been an understatement, and Leadbone nearly fell out of his stool at the sight of him. It had been Atlas Stormstripe, along with his hares and the otters of the Rogue Crew, who had launched a crusade across the seas to end all piracy, and who had succeeded when they slew the Pirate King Captain Blade. But the badgerlord hadn't done so without injury, and the rat remembered watching after a long fought battle as the captain, in his last ditch effort for survival, grab the nearest weapon he could find, a spiked mace, from a dead beast's paws and swing with all the effort he could muster at the blood crazed badger's skull.

A black eye patch covered where the mace had taken out the badgerlord's right eye and jagged scars from its spikes traced down from underneath it all the way to his striped snout, like thunderbolts from a storm cloud. But, what truly frightened Leadbone was the way his left eye was. At first, he hadn't believed the rumors of what other corsairs had witnessed, but seeing it in front of him, the rat now knew they had been telling the truth.

Atlas' remaining eye was halfway clouded over with the pink mist of the Bloodwrath, swirling within like its own separate entity. Like a game of tug-of-war, the pink clouds constantly struggled to take over the badger's mind and body but were instantly pulled back and suppressed, trying and failing over and over again in an endless cycle. When Captain Blade had swung the mace at his skull, he hadn't just taken away one of his eyes, but also a fraction of the beast's sanity. Atlas, once the wise, respectable leader of Salamandastron, had become a fire mountain that could explode at any time, a beast on the literal brink of madness.

The badger gave a solitary look to the other patron's of the bar. "Anybeast who is not named Leadbone, it would be wise to leave." Everybeast stayed still, too deathly afraid under his gaze to move. For a fraction of a second, Leadbone saw the pink mist overcome him, and the badger clenched his teeth in a snarl. "NOW!"

With a clatter of chairs and bottles, the vermin in the bar made a break for the door, pushing against one another to be the first one out. The barkeeper stopped at the frame, giving a sympathetic glance in the rat's direction. "Sorry, Lead," he said before pushing it open and fleeing.

Leadbone waited as the badgerlord composed himself, shutting his eye and breathing in a deep breath. When he opened his eye, the white had returned. "It's been a while, Leadbone," he said. "Nine seasons?"

"Ten, m'lord," the rat answered.

The badger nodded in agreement. "Ten then," he said. Atlas turned back to Leadbone. "It's taken me a long time to track you down. But here you are. Do you know why I'm here?"

He shook his head hastily.

"First, answer me a few simple questions. Be honest," the badgerlord said, turning his head to look at the pirate. "When you sailed under Captain Blade as his first mate, looting and plundering, how many innocent villages and ports was it that you pillaged?"

Leadbone gulped. "I don't remember all of 'em," he said unwisely, watching as the Bloodwrath seeped further into the badger's eye and his mouth curved into a frown. He quickly changed his answer. "At least thirty, I think."

The pink cloud shrunk once more. "At least thirty," Atlas repeated. "At least thirty different villages you plundered around the coasts of Southsward, Mossflower, and the far north. And what did Blade do with all of that plunder?"

"'E said once that 'e hid it all on an island across the sea. One nobeast knew about but 'im."

Atlas raised a brow. "An island? So, it's true then," the badger answered him.

"Wot's true?" the rat asked.

Atlas reached into his cloak and retrieved something from within. He held it out for the rat to see. It was a cluster of gold coins, all glistening in the warm torchlight. "About two seasons ago, a group of sailors- pirates rather- sailed into a port close to Salamandastron. They said they had found an island and upon it was the largest treasure they had ever seen. Gold, rubies, diamonds. Mounds of it as far as their eyes could see. The Lost Treasure of Captain Blade, they called it."

Leadbone's eyes went wide at the sound of it. He had heard the rumors of course, everybeast had, but he had never known they had spread all the way into Mossflower. The Pirate King's treasure was like a dream, gold, rubies, sapphires, all just ripe for the picking to whoever found it first, and it was said that it could make a beast richer than they could even imagine.

The rat nodded. "Aye, everybeast has heard the rumors. There are corsairs out there sailin' for the island right now, tryin' t' strike while the iron's hot an' get it afore anybeast else can. In fact, I was just out there meself..." It was the wrong thing to say, the pirate realized as the badgerlord lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, yanking him closer until their noses almost touched.

"And is it there!?" the beast shouted.

"Aye, it's there, it's there. I promise on me life!" Leadbone shrieked, struggling to pry himself away from the insane badger's grip. Atlas let go, watching as the rat fell on his rear and scrambled backwards away from him. The pirate panted, trying to regain his composure.

"Did you find it?" the badger asked, suddenly so calm that it was frightening to the rat.

He shook his head. "I didn't find it, but I know it's there."

Atlas looked at him in disbelief. "And how do you know for certain?"

"Because..." Leadbone paused, staring fearfully into the badger's eyes. "Why else would _his_ ship be guardin' it?"

The badger raised his brow. "What do you mean?"

Leadbone looked both ways as if he expected somebeast to eavesdrop on what he was about to say, before finally opening his mouth. "I had heard other beasts talk about it an' say it was there, that it appeared on the darkest o' nights, but I didn't think I believed 'em. So, when I got there, I decided I wanted t' see if everybeast had been tellin' the truth or not. Better safe than dead, after all," the rat started, pausing for a moment. "Well... they were.

"The moment night fell, I watched as a ship with black sails came sailin' outta the mist an' did one, two... three rounds around the island. And then, it just disappeared. I went around the island t' look fer it, but it was just... gone. Beasts call it the Ghost Ship, say it sails without a crew an' protects the island. Others have told me it can sink a ship without even touchin' it, an' if ya _do_ try t' touch it or ram it with your ship or anything o' the like, you'll go straight through it, as if it wasn't even there. They were prob'ly just fibbin', but who knows? I do know one thing though. That was _The Phantom,_ Blade's ship, no doubt about it. I was on it long enough. I'd recognize it anywhere."

Atlas crossed his arms and stepped forward, towering over the rat. "I don't believe in ghost stories, Leadbone," he said. "I sank _The Phantom._ I sent it to the bottom of the ocean. How could it be back?"

Leadbone gave him a confused look. "No, it got away... Some corsairs-"

"Are you callING ME A LIAR!?" The beast's eyes were red as he placed his footpaw on the rat's chest and began to press down, squeezing the breath from out of his lungs.

Leadbone choked as he struggled to get out from under the beast's footpaw. "No... ugggh... I didn't mean... awk..."

The badger stepped off of him and allowed Leadbone to catch his breath. When the rat had regained his composure, Atlas glared at him. "Where is it? The island."

Leadbone clutched at his chest, quickly answering the question in between his gasps for breath. "Not far... a few leagues... south o' here. Maybe... about a week's journey in yer vessels."

Atlas clutched his chin, thinking it over. "It'd give us time to make preparations in Salamandastron, find a crew perhaps... yes, that'll work."

"An' what about me?" Leadbone asked, still huffing and clutching his stomach.

The badger glanced with little interest towards the rat. "What about you?"

The rat glanced towards the door of _The Iron Curtain,_ gulping before finally saying, "I told ya what ya wanted. Can- Can I go...?"

Atlas followed the beast's eyes to the door. "Forty villages you said? Forty different villages and kingdoms you and Blade plundered?"

Leadbone was silent, daring not to disagree with him. "Aye," he said.

The badgerlord turned back to him. "Very well, you may go."

Leadbone smiled in disbelief and almost laughed, being careful as he made his way around the badger, almost expecting him to make a move to try and finish him off, but when the beast merely stood in place, still muttering to himself about his plans, the rat wasted no time in making a break for the door, pushing it open and immediately impaling himself on the end of a hare's javelin.

Leadbone gave one last gurgle before the beast lightly pushed him off with his footpaw, wiping the weapon of the blood. Atlas strode out of the tavern, giving a single glance to the seven corpses of the bar patrons lying on the ground, before turning to one of his hares holding a torch. "Burn it down. Let all wavescum know that this was the last safe haven... and that it is gone."

The soldier did as he was told, opening the door and tossing his torch inside.

The rain had stopped, and Atlas Stormstripe watched as _The Iron Curtain_ burned brightly in the night, the billowing smoke rising high into the air and telling any pirate, corsair, or scum of the seas, that it was no longer safe. The Lost Treasure of Captain Blade was their last hope, their final chance for survival. But he would find it first.

Piracy was dead and he would keep it that way.

"Chart a course for Salamandastron," Atlas ordered. "We have preparations to make."


	2. Prologue: The Eye of the Storm

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own characters' points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Prologue: The Eye of the Storm**

 _By: Airan_

* * *

Morning had arrived on the coast of Mossflower, the calling of gulls welcoming the arrival of the dawn sun as it peeked tentatively over the horizon. The great badger mountain Salamandastron stood illuminated in the early morning sunlight like a silent guardian, watching the tranquil churning of the waves as they drifted onto the shore. Within the fortress, the chaos of breakfast had begun, beasts, aroused by the sweet aroma of cooking in the kitchens, leaping out from their beds and rushing to be the first in line in the mess hall.

Colonel Frederick Swiftpaw stood smartly at the front of the line, listening to the clatter of silverware and the chatter of beasts around him. Despite being a hare, the colonel had always been a patient beast, merely stepping out of the way as a young leveret darted around his footpaws and skipped his place in line. He rolled his eyes but otherwise paid no mind to the eager young one, watching as the lad held out his paws expectantly for a tray.

"Breakfast for two please, sah!" the lad called to the apron-clad hare across the counter.

The cook raised a brow at his request. "Sorry, lad. No double helpin's. That's the rule, wot." He crossed his arms. "Shouldn't jolly well even give ya one, what with how ya just skipped a rankin' officer."

The leveret glanced fearfully back to the colonel, realizing his mistake. "S-sorry, sah, I didn't mean t'-"

Frederick waved him off with a paw. "Ah, let the lad be, Bart. There's no harm in it."

"No harm?" the other hare, Bart, scoffed. "Do ya have any idea how many beasts I'm havin' t' feed?"

Frederick was well aware, giving a solid look around him at the mass of creatures already seated and eating their breakfast and the many, many more still in line behind him, tapping their footpaws impatiently.

Before the rise of Captain Blade only fifteen seasons ago, the Long Patrol's numbers would not have been so large, but times had changed and the Long Patrol was forced to change along with them. The legions of corsairs at the pirate king's disposal were much more than the army of hares could handle and so, for the first time, Atlas Stormstripe was forced to call for aid from the Rogue Crew and their other allies, opening the Long Patrol's ranks to anybeast among them, hare or not, who believed they were perilous enough to fight Captain Blade head on and keep the shores safe from piracy.

From the shrews of the Guosim, to the Highland squirrels of the north, and even to a few of the mice of Redwall Abbey, beasts came from all over at the opportunity, and what was once the hare exclusive army of the Long Patrol had become something bigger and prouder. The Waverunners they called themselves, an army large enough to protect the sea and destroy piracy at its core.

Frederick looked back to Bart with a roguish grin. "I still don't see why you can't spare the lad a second helping. What, with how much you sneak from the larders and all, greedyguts."

Bart blushed brightly, glancing back and forth to make sure nobeast else heard. He jabbed a claw at the leveret. "Alright, just this once, ya bally scamp, but I ain't ever doin' it again, ya hear?" The hare cook filled a tray and handed it to the leveret, watching as the young one scurried off before glancing back at the colonel with a distinct frown. "Greedyguts? Ya wound me, colonel. Can't ya tell how thin I've gotten? It's hard t' even get a bally crumb with this lot. I'm just securin' it is all... for safe keepin', wot."

Frederick stepped forward to the counter. "Then I suppose you won't mind sparing me a few more crumbs then, wot?"

Bart crossed his arms in disbelief. "Oh, so _I'm_ the greedyguts then?"

"It's not just for me, Bart." Frederick paused, frowning somewhat. "I've been summoned by Lord Atlas."

"Oh," the hare cook said, his long ears drooping at the sudden change in the colonel's tone. He turned his gaze for a moment, locating the closest kitchen assistant he could find. "Oy, Celia, m' dear, mind the rest of this rabble for me for just a tick, would ya? I'm speakin' t' the colonel for a brief moment, wot."

Bart stepped out of the way, allowing his assistant to take his place before looking back to Frederick. "The terror himself summoned ya? What for this time?"

"No idea," Frederick replied, "but it would be wise if I didn't keep him waiting."

"Aye, the brute's already mad, no point in making him angry," Bart said, grabbing a tray and beginning to fill it with food. "I tell ya, chap, there's just not much right in his head anymore. Always ramblin' about Blade and pirates that don't even exist anymore, slayin' unarmed vermin without a second thought- I mean what happened t' honor and the warrior's way? And then there's all that about the treasure... he's worse than usual and I don't like it one jolly bit, wot.

"I swear, chap, it's gonna be better when he's jolly well gone," Bart finished, pushing the filled tray towards Frederick.

Frederick shook his head in disapproval. "You should know not to talk about Lord Atlas like that. He might find out."

"Ah, who bally cares what the old brute finds out? He'll forget like he always does," the cook retorted.

The colonel wasn't convinced. "He'll forget, aye. But you know how he is. He'll remember eventually, and when he does, he'll think you said something different. You said it would be better when he was gone. He'll think you said it would be better when he was killed, wot."

That instantly silenced any of the other hare's thoughts on the matter. "Just be careful, Fred. Ya don't want a repeat of what happened last time," the hare cook warned.

"It was only a scratch, Bart."

"Aye, and it would've been much more had ya not gotten out so quickly. He could have taken your footpaw off, for all ya know, wot. Heh, we'd've had t' start callin' ya Fred Onepaw instead."

Frederick chuckled. "Aye, I got lucky I suppose. But, I can assure you, Bart, I'm fine. It was only a scratch."

"Aye, if ya say so, colonel," Bart muttered. "Just be careful. Ya know how he can be, wot."

The hare colonel nodded, taking the filled tray of food from his friend. "Don't worry, Bart. I'm always careful."

As Frederick bid his farewell and walked away from the counter, Bart watched him go. The cook frowned. There was a distinct limp in the colonel's stride. "Aye... just a scratch."

-.-.-

Frederick knocked lightly on the great oaken door of Lord Atlas Stormstripe's chambers, his paw dropping back down to clasp the sides of the heavy tray of food Bart gave him as he waited for admission.

"You may enter, Colonel Swiftpaw," came the badgerlord's booming voice a few moments later.

The hare stood perfectly straight and at attention as he pulled open the door and tentatively stepped inside.

Garbed in a flowing cape of crimson, Atlas stood at the far end of his rather expansive chambers with his back turned to the hare soldier, the badgerlord's lone eye fixed on the tall window in front of him. The pale midmorning sunlight that shone through it filled the room with light and shone against the hulking beast's form, giving him an almost golden aura around him.

Frederick gave one look to him before moving to shut the door behind him, leaving it open just a crack as he always did. The smooth stone floor was cold against the hare's footpaws as he limped slowly and quietly towards a lone table on the left most side of the room, carefully pushing aside the countless numbers of sea charts, island maps, and documents that covered the table's surface.

The hare set the tray of food down with so little as a sound and clasped his paws neatly behind his back before taking careful steps towards Atlas, counting them as he did. When he reached seven he moved not an inch closer to the beast. There were thirteen more steps between him and the badger, thirteen more steps between him and the beast's claws. The last time he met with Atlas, there had been twelve.

Frederick shifted his weight onto his uninjured footpaw, his paw snapping up into a smart salute.

"At ease, colonel," the badgerlord muttered as he glanced over his shoulder at the hare. He turned slowly, his cape trailing behind him as he took a step closer to the Waverunner officer.

"Thank you, Lord Atlas," Frederick answered him, lowering his paw back to his side. He gave a nod to the table. "I've brought breakfast if you're hungry, sah."

"Famished. Thank you," Atlas replied as he lumbered towards the table and took a seat in the large armchair at the head of it. Frederick followed him cautiously before taking his own place, watching as the badger spread warm redcurrant jam on a scone and take a modest bite of it. "Mmm... splendid as always. Do send Bartlesby my regards, would you?"

"Of course, sah," Frederick said with a nod.

"Now then, to get to business," Atlas said when the two had finished eating. He wiped his snout on a napkin and pushed the tray in front of him to the side before collecting his documents and straightening them. "I'm sure you are wondering why I've summoned you here this morning, colonel?"

"Yes, sah. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, wot," Frederick answered with a nod.

Atlas nodded. "The Lost Treasure of Captain Blade. I trust you've heard the rumors of it, yes? What is your opinion on the matter?"

Frederick frowned. "Blade's hoard is nothing more than a passing wind, sah," the hare answered. "A tale made up to give corsairs a breath of hope, a reason to keep pressing on in a world that they don't belong in. A rumor, sah. Nothing for us to worry our heads over."

The badger nodded in understanding. "Yes, but even the faintest of winds can grow into the mightiest of storms. You of all beasts would know that, colonel," Atlas said, his lone eye glistening with the pink mist that lingered inside. The beast was quiet for moment before asking another question. "What is the most dangerous kind of vermin, do you think?"

Frederick thought hard about the question before replying. "A smart one, sah."

"Aye, a smart one," Atlas confirmed. "Blade was a smart vermin, always tinkering with things, trying to learn how the world worked. When his ships were slow he found ways to make them faster, when he raided a village, he didn't only take gold but also books, journals, knowledge. Anything they had. Because he knew that if he was smart, beasts would follow him anywhere, even into the Green Maelstrom itself.

"This rumor, this storm that's brewing, we're standing in the eye of it. As we speak, colonel, pirates hear the name Blade and set course for that island, gathering together, growing, all in the hopes that they can see even a faint glimmer of the pirate king's hoard. And imagine if it does exist," the badgerlord continued, standing up from his chair. He beckoned the hare to follow him, who reluctantly stood up as well and moved beside him to the window.

Atlas raised his paw, pointing out to where a mass of buildings stood a few miles away on the shore, long docks extending out from them into the sea with all manner of ships rocking beside them. "That is the port of Hearth and that..." he said, pointing to another faint cluster of them many leagues away that the hare could just barely make out, "is Merchant's Rest. Both of them, as well as many others along the coast, were built by beasts who were promised gold in return, which they received. And with that gold, who knows what they did? Perhaps they used it to get food from a baker, or to buy the finest cloths from a seamstress? The point is, colonel: gold is power. With gold, you can make a beast do anything, give you anything. Blade knew this. And what if there was a vermin like Blade, a smart vermin, who found this treasure? They could form an army. Have beasts follow them without question. Rebuild their empire.

"In the port of Hearth, we have been building a new vessel for our fleet that I will be helming. It is called the _Zephyr._ Colonel Swiftpaw, I want you to find a crew for it. We cannot allow that to happen. We must find the treasure first," Atlas finished, his gaze turning to where Frederick stood.

The hare stood silently, thinking over everything the badgerlord had said. "But, sah," he finally said. "You said that there would be pirates gathered there, loads of them, wot. If I did that, I could very well be sending beasts to their deaths."

Atlas shrugged. "A few deaths on my paws are nothing more than what Blade did."

Frederick looked at him in shock, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Sah. That is murder!"

There was only a brief flicker in Atlas' eye as it turned from pink to the bloodiest of reds. "DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE!?" the beast shouted only inches from the hare's face, his sharp teeth clenched tightly into a snarl.

Frederick swallowed a breath, but tried his best to remain unfazed. "No, sah. It does not."

Atlas' jabbed one of his sharp claws at the window as the color in his eye once again began to fade. "Look out that window again, colonel, at those ports, those buildings, those homes. Can you imagine them burning? Those beasts being slaughtered? I can. And if a pawful of innocent beasts had to be slain by my own paw to prevent that, I would do it in a heartbeat. I was the one who built this world and I am the one who holds it in my grasp. I will not let it fall." The badger lowered his paw, his gaze narrowed at the hare. "Do you know how I slew Captain Blade?"

Frederick nodded. In the battle of Terramort, he hadn't seen Atlas slay the beast, nobeast had. But everybeast knew the story. But everybeast had heard the scream as the badgerlord threw the pirate king from the top of his castle spire into the ocean and the sharp rocks below. The hare realized immediately what the beast meant and took a step back away from the window.

"You have your orders, colonel. It would be wise to follow them," Atlas said, turning back towards the window and gazing once more at the sea.

Frederick slowly backed away from the crazed beast, only stopping when he was once again thirteen steps away from him. "Lord Stormstripe, sah," he pleaded, "we already won the war, wot. You don't need to start another one.

"And that's where you are wrong, colonel. We never won the war," Atlas said, his gaze turning back to the hare for only a moment. "The war never ended."


	3. The Cast

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

As requested from a reader:

* * *

 **The Cast**

* * *

 **Fildering Dillwithers**

 **Category: Soldier**

The short, sandy-furred young hare swished his blade, clashing it with that of his dreaded foe- steel ringing on steel, the echoes of battle filling the air. At last they came together, swords crossed, faces gritted up into eachother's. "Y're no match f'justice, y'cad. Y'll pay today f'rall th' hares you've slain. 'Tis the honorable way, the way of warriors long before me, to crush scum like you an' your bally toads, wot wot!"

"Hah!" cackled the stoat with ravenous glee; a cat, playing with prey that would inevitably become its latest meal. "Ye've got no chance against me, fool. Yaer aunly option es death!"

Their faces were close enough now that their whiskers touched. The hare saw every detail of his enemy's face, smelled his foul breath, and felt his cold hatred. It was now or never... "Eulaliaaa!"

Fildering Dillwithers sputtered and howled, awakening in the warm, inviting dining room of Lady Albren Galbraith to icy cold Mountain Ale up his nose, over his whiskers, and in his ears. "Wot th' devil! Gerroff, y'ballyflippin' brunchscoffin' maroons, I'll give y'vinegar'n'applesauce, by jingo!" His outcry was met with giggling and chortles from the culprits, Twilbee and Qwirry, two of his most trusted allies (he jestingly made a mental note to add "former" to that status in the near future). "Oh I say there, Dilly m' old Filder; dozin' at th' table again. Won't do, wot, won't do h'at bloomin' all!"

"That it, eh naow? Come taste m'ages-honored blade, bounders!" Getting a bearing on his surroundings in the dining room of Galbraith Hall, he seized a length of celery. "Blighterin' fiends an' cowardly custards, wot wot!" A becrusted custard hurtled from what seemed nowhere, catching him across the head and sending him reeling and well-lathered in hazelnut meadowcream and light flaked pastry. He whirled, wiping off the debris with one paw and waving the celery shaft with the other. "I say, who's the benighted berryswiper threw this custard, eh wot? Own up, I say!" In response, a fully-fledged turtle pie, two summer salads and the contents of a pot of woodland stew flew from all directions. "Take cover!" he roared as, selecting an especially oozy raspberry turnover, he returned fire.

 **-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

"We invited you in, let you stay with us here at my home," said the badger lady gravely, with a mock severity so convincing that it had the hare culprits wincing with her every word. "But you start fights- good-natured, perhaps, but fights nonetheless. You play your youthful games. You make a mess of this old castle; my home. My Hall is no place for young hares. Fwynna, explain the plan you brought to me earlier, please."

The old harewife matron needed no second bidding. She cleared her throat. "Hrmph, yes, these poor devils've made quite a conundrum o' the old hall. Why, it hasn't seen this much action in a hundred seasons, I'd say! There's only one option."

The guilty troublemakers exchanged nervous glances as Lady Galbraith broke the silence. "Yes. There is only one option. You must leave my home. Go thither and hither and yon; wherever you please, as long as it isn't here. Roam south, where strapping young hares such as yourselves should have done long ago. The Mountain of the Fire Lizards calls you home."

Fildering cleared his throat, speaking for the others as he did. "But how will we know the way? Wot the deuce is a fire lizard an' wot've they got with a mountain? I don't chance meetin' one o' those on a dark night, an' Fates forbid a mountainful of the festerin' firebrands!"

"Tis called Salamandastron, home of the Badger Lords of ancient times and the finest military force from the rocky Northern Shores to Southsward's green lands. How to get there, you ask? That is but a simple thing. Your heart will show you the way."

* * *

 **Gordon Hagglethrump, a.k.a. Scully Craws**

 **Category: Cabin Boy**

A three-cornered hat with ear holes, small-sized, for a leveret. A toy lead cutlass in a cloth scabbard. A set of three hollow wooden tubes, carved to look like a telescope.

Two puppets: one, a badger dressed in magnificent armor; the other, a hare. The standard Long Patrol uniform had been stripped off the puppet, and instead, it wore a pirate's outfit, a ring through each of its long ears, and a bandana embroidered with a skull and crossbones.

More toys and scraps of worn parchment and wood - hand-scribbled maps, doodles - were tossed out of the oak trunk and onto the floor of the large bedroom. Gordon dug deeper.

A toy wooden ship flew through the air and shattered into pieces. He had no time to be careful. He was sailing in the morning.

Two brass nose-rings. A genuine leather scabbard.

An eyewitness's drawing of a village burning: rat babes screaming in terror. Notes from an interview with a survivor, a ferret, a childless mother. The enemy's brass belt-buckle found in the rubble, reading "Waverunners".

A new item, purchased from a stranger in a dark alley with his allowance: a burnt piece of a wooden sign, reading "Iron Curt". The blackened skull of a rat.

His mother never pried into his evening activities. Mrs. Hagglethrump assumed Gordon was doing homework for Brother Sage, the quiet mouse who served as his tutor. She didn't ask why Brother Sage had been exiled from Redwall abbey. She didn't ask what Brother Sage was teaching him for the hefty sum she paid: revealing the truth to him about Lord Atlas, about the money, the villages destroyed, the innocent deaths, the madness and the injustice and the reign of terror.

She didn't know that Gordon would be gone tomorrow, and that she would never see him again.

Gordon reached the bottom of the trunk. He found a small dagger. The dried blood had been scratched away to reveal, engraved, a hero's name: Blade.

His father was busy with the administrative duties of a retiring Colonel maintaining his status in Salamandastron. He was busy with Cyril, "bright and brave young chap", the mature son, the military academy son, the son who would soon marry General Sapwood's daughter. It was enough to know that little fluffy-cheeked Gordon played with dolls and read poetry. He didn't need to know any more. He didn't need to know who had been skimming through the record-books in his office. He didn't need to know the identity of the _Zephyr's_ new Cabin Boy.

"A lonesum' orphan oi is, jus' lookin fer ways t' earn a meal wot t' fill me belly," Gordon had told the recruiter, mimicking the accent of the lower classes. The recruiter bought the act, and added his alias to the manifest: "Scully Craws, leveret, brown, C.B."

Gordon finished re-packing the trunk with the essentials: extra food, lists of names and places, and his new Waverunners uniform. He was tempted for a moment to walk through the main entrance wearing it, so that his father - still sulking from their argument at the dinner table - could see it. How astonished he'd be that his poetry-reading son had secured a position on the Badgerlord's own vessel! But Gordon knew better. This was not a game. He had a mission.

"Injustice appears as justice to its beneficiaries; justice, as injustice to those it sacrifices," Brother Sage once said, teaching them of the ancient heroes, the assassins who toppled tyrants.

Gordon picked up the badger-puppet. Calmly, he severed off its head and tossed it away. Then, he put the dagger into his cloak pocket, slicked down the fur on the top of his head with a bit of grease, and crept out of the window. As he left, he overheard his brother giving a toast.

"To Lord Atlas! May he live for ever!"

* * *

 **Robert Rosequill  
**  
 **Category: Navigator**

The ship's deck was rife with shadows from the sun slipping below the horizon. Only two beasts were on board, one a gaunt hare and the other a bulky hedgehog. Each were laughing boisterously, a flask of ale between the two of them. The hare took a swig, wiped his lips with the back of his paw while passing it over to the hedgehog. The hedgehog, Robert, snatched it from him, chuckling.

"You know, Harold, we'll be settin' sail on a Friday." The hedgehog beamed as Harold guffawed, the hare almost falling over in his hysterics. Robert chuckled even more heartily. "The worst kind o' luck wouldn't you say?

"Awful news, friend, awful news," Harold crowed, throwing his head back to guzzle some more ale, then almost choking as he seemed to remember something worth saying. "Ohoho, remember Tobias?"

Robert immediately doubled over. "Heh heh heh! That poor little mouse! He jumped ship an' swam to shore when he figgered out what day it was!" Robert rolled his eyes, reaching out a paw for the flask. "Fates, a Friday. What's the fuss about Friday?"

Harold shrugged as he handed over the drink. "Storm's brew on Fridays. If you set sail, you're promised a rough sea."

Robert rolled his eyes once more, taking the flask. "Hmph. You know how many storms I've weathered?"

The hare grinned. "Too many to count but too little to brag about?"

The hedgehog fell into another fit of throaty laughter. "Heh heh heh! Righto, ol' boy, righto! And not a one of 'em to do with any day o' the week. You know the things some o' the younger breed o' these Runners say? If'n the sky's red in the mornin', no sailin', 'cause that's how accidents happen. You hear that? The sky's why accidents happen." Robert's jovial smile faltered a bit, then he took another large gulp of ale. Harold shifted uncomfortably. A silence fell as the two watched the sky darken ever more slightly by the minute.

It was Harold who finally broke the quiet. "I'm surprised, Rob."

Robert, knowing what the hare was going to say, humored him anyway. "And about what, friend?"

"That you're still out there."

Robert shrugged, a twinkle in his eye. "'Course I am. One o' us has to be."

Harold smirked in agreement. "Aye. And better you than me, I'd say. How is it, anyways? Not knowing any of these new types?"

Robert, finishing off the flask, stowed the empty container inside the folds of his clothes. "Bearable, really. I've been meetin' the new kinds of us. I've met a little you, a little me, even some o' our ol' mates've got replacements. Heh heh heh. Replacements. That's a good word for 'em, I'll say."

Harold laughed. "Yeah. Perhaps for the best. I know I can't do what I used to do. Can't barely run, much less jump. Fightin's outta the question."

Robert wagged a finger at his friend. "You see, that's why you get a softy's job like me. I just look o'er maps and the likes all day. Nary has a rope found its way into my paws these days. Too busy you see." Robert winked.

"Then why still do it? You never were one to shy from getting' dirt on your paws and sweat on your brow, why now?" Harold inquired playfully, but genuine interest on his face.

"I must admit, it ain't easy pushin' and pullin' anymore. But hey, you can't beat that sea breeze."

Harold nodded, convinced. "I hear that, friend."

With that, the last thread of sunlight sunk beneath the waves as the moonshine rushed to steal its place. Taking notice at the sudden darkness, Robert cleared his throat, grunting as he stood upright. "Welp, I'd say that's enough o' remenissin' for one night. I'd say let's get off'n this rickety ship." Robert grinned at the hare. "I ain't exactly got the permission to be throwin' parties on here you see, heh heh heh."

* * *

 **Crue Sarish  
**  
 **Category: Healer**

"Attention crew!"

"Yes?"

"Crew, not Crue! Now, it has come to my attention…"

Crue Sarish bemoaned the misfortune that she was destined to work on the sea, where she would be corrected if someone was not saying her name, and chastised if someone did and she wasn't ready for it. She assumed that after five seasons of seafaring she'd be used to it, but that had yet to happen. Her bushy tail flicked once in annoyance.

Several long minutes elapsed before the Quartermaster finished his briefing regarding something about how something was to be stowed below decks. He might have mentioned the rigging as well, but Crue was far too preoccupied to pay much attention to those matters. Scheduled to leave the _Sunlit_ the following morning, there was little more for her to do than to wonder if she'd packed _all_ of her belongings.

"Easier said than done," she murmured, "what with that ruddy cabin boy constantly 'borrowing' my needles and thread…"

"What was that?" one of her shipmates asked.

"Oh," Crue replied quietly, her ears perking up and her mouth curving into a well-practiced smile, "nothing at all! Just thinking about the future."

"Lot to think about, what with you leaving tomorrow." The young badger turned to clap a paw on her shoulder. "But if you've the patience and the gall to put up with this lot for the last two seasons, you've nothing to fear from the future."

"Indeed," she responded nervously. Despite his well-wishes, Crue could only manage another polite nod before she fled to make sure no one had opened her chest while she had her back turned. She was long past wondering what the crew thought about her social unavailability, preferring, instead, to pursue more scholarly endeavors. The fact that she declined to share these endeavors with any of the crew who'd shown interest was irrelevant.

Within the confines of her room, she took stock of her supplies for the sixth or eighth or twelfth time, muttering in annoyance as she pulled out her herbs and wrappings and threads and books and all manner of items necessary for her profession. A carefully wrapped package of nightshade berries was set next to the lemon balm, which was currently sharing a lump on the bed with a jar of lavender. She'd have to pick up more motherwort before long; she suspected one of the hares aboard had also "borrowed" some a few week back.

"At least I have some willow bark left. Surprised Ren Spindelfur didn't make a grab for it last week." She _tut tutted_ under her breath and had a comment to accompany just about all of her supplies. Fortunately, the crew members she spoke of were not present for her tired, and by the time she'd carefully stowed everything exactly as she liked, she was ready to leave the ship and its dirtybeasts behind. Perhaps with her contract fulfilled with the _Sunlit_ , she could join a real ship with a real crew who went on real adventures. After two seasons of making poultices for bruises, brewing tonics for poor digestion, and sewing up cuts from careless sword practice, she was ready for battle and glory. On more than one occasion, she'd been tempted to arrange an "accident" just for something to do. After all, it wouldn't kill somebeast to give her nimble fingers a head injury to stitch.

Crue went above deck, letting her red fur soak in the afternoon sun as the sea breeze tickled the tufts of fur at the tops of her ears. She kept her mind off of her desire to grumble by daydreaming of glory, and of the respect she would finally earn after all these seasons. Tomorrow she would keep her ears to the wind and show the world that Crue Sarish was a name to be remembered. Nothing feathered nor fowl would stand in her way now.

* * *

 **Plink  
**  
 **Category: Stowaway**

The market was busy today, crowded with happy goodbeasts with their fat purses, and Plink was working the busiest part. She coasted through the bustle dipping her paws into loose sacks, sampling a coin here and there, a spool of thread, a lump of cheese from somebeast's lunch. They never saw it coming, either, not while she wore this disguise. They never saw a slick little searat, just a large, homely mousewife out to buy sweets for her ickle babies. She'd even snitched a woven-grass basket and everything.

Something felt off today, though. Plink smiled her best smile and said her 'pardon me's but still she felt anxious. Someone was watching her.

She slipped out of the crowd and down an alley, scurrying to get through the narrow stretch to the cross street, but a big figure dropped from the roof and landed lithely in front of her. Plink saw the bushy tail and the winking silver badge, and immediately whirled around to bolt back toward the crowd. A towering hare already blocked her way. She skidded to a stop before him.

"Just remembered you left the kettle on, wot?" the marshal asked.

"Um, yes," Plink squeaked. "Hubby's probably wondering where I've been!"

"Right," said the squirrel behind her, and then snatched off the shawl that Plink used to conceal her small rattish ears. Startled, she dropped her basket. Coins and treasures scattered across the cobblestones.

The hare looked down his nose at her. "Now. You're too jolly grown up for this trick and you'll be lucky if we don't arrest you for posing a public menace. Come to think of it…" He narrowed his eyes and tugged at his whiskers. "I've seen you skulking about down by the docks, haven't I? Stealing fish scraps, were you?"

"Ain't stealin' if they're throwin' it out anyways," Plink mumbled.

"What's that?" The hare twisted his big ears at her, frowning harder.

Plink screwed up her mouth into a scowl. He'd heard her just fine. Big bully marshals, they didn't know who they were messing with. Plink wasn't just any gutter-licking whelp. She was the daughter of a mighty corsair, a true terror of the high seas, and one day she would be feared and renowned, too.

"I said I could've taken all their dirty fish if I'd've wanted to," she said as she drew the knife out of the pocket hidden in her mousewife skirt, "but I was fine with just the heads!"

In a sudden burst, Plink slashed at the hare's belly. He jerked back and her knife nipped into his navy coat and snagged on one of the brass buttons, but Plink didn't stay to see if she'd drawn blood. She dodged around him and tried to run but something held her back. Then, there was an enormous rip and Plink was free. She sprinted back toward the street, shouts and pursuit loud in her ears.

Plink ducked low and sped through the crowd. There were squeaks and cries, but no one grabbed her and she managed to squeeze into the narrow gap between one shop and the next. She barely fit anymore but managed to wriggle out into the empty alley beyond. With one breathless glance toward the roofline where the squirrel might appear at any second, Plink scurried down the alley toward the docks.

It was only when she was certain she wasn't being followed that Plink paused to look at her disguise. The pretty floral skirt was torn right down the back, revealing the seat of her grubby trousers and her long tail. She took the dress off carefully, and folded it like Ma had taught her after they stole it off a clothesline seasons back. And then she left it on a broken barrel in the alley.

No point saving it. Still, Plink rested a paw on the cloth a moment longer before she turned and headed for the docks.

* * *

 **Captain Ciera Ancora  
**  
 **Category: Pirate Captain**

The mood in the hours following the skirmish was a sombre one. Captain Greyjaw of the _Deadwake_ had been repelled, but at the cost of crewbeasts that _The Silver Maiden_ could ill afford to lose. Grimly, the remaining crew set to restoring order. First, they had to take care of the bodies.

Ciera heard the muted splashes from her position in the hold. It was a grim reminder why she was about to do what she was about to do to Figgins.

Figgins had been the _Deadwake's_ lookout. Now the young wildcat was lashed to a chair, his fur matted with tears and blood. _Hellgates, he's just a child. Probably suckered in by the promise of treasure, too addlebrained to know what he was in for. Bet he never thought his first battle would end up like this._

She pitied the young fool. Not enough to change what was about to happen, though. That die had been cast long ago.

"I need to know where the _Deadwake_ is heading," she said. Again. "I know you know something about their present course."

Figgins said nothing, just hung his head and wept.

"Figgins!" she snapped sharply. _Hellgates._ Greyjaw had his hooks deep into this one, and Ciera was rapidly running out of both time and patience. _Time for a different tack._

"Now listen here, you little puke. I watched your lot kill ten of my crew today. Big number, ten. Very big. So I'll help you count it out on your claws, like so." She seized one of the wildcat's claws, and bent it sharply backwards at the joint. The bone snapped with an audible crack, prompting an unearthly scream of pain.

"That one's for Ledder," Ciera said, twisting sharply. "He was a good messmate. Your crew slit his throat."

She wrenched it back the other way, for emphasis. "Now," the ferret Captain whispered, staring coolly into Figgins' red-rimmed eyes, "shall I tell you about the other nine?"

Some time later, Ciera softly closed the door, and beckoned a waiting searat. "Cut him loose, get him something to eat, and bandage his paw. Once he's rested, put him to work. Nothing too strenuous, mind."

The searat nodded understandingly. Crew was crew; _The Silver Maiden_ couldn't afford to be choosy about backgrounds, not in this day and age.

Ciera wearily made her way above decks, and had a word with the steersrat. Figgins had spilled everything he knew, which was enough for a new heading. It was a start, at least.

That done, she found a stretch of rail, and vomited over the side. _Hellgates. He wasn't much older than Rin._

She slumped down, suddenly exhausted. She could still hear the anguished screams. She deserved to. There were others who'd have gladly done the torturing, which was why she hadn't let them. The burden needed to be borne by somebeast who understood that necessary evils were still evils. That was a captain's duty.

She watched the endless expanse of blue-gray ocean lap against the side of the ship. How long had it been since she'd slept last? This treasure hunt… it was doing something to her. To the crew.

Ciera had always believed that there was a special place in Hellgates for captains like Greyjaw, sacrificing their own crewbeasts, slaughtering other crews to get a slight edge in a race for a treasure that, in point of fact… might not exist. But line between her and him was blurring, rapidly.

The once-crowded seas were emptying out, slowly but surely. They said piracy was dead, and with every passing day that became slightly truer; but if anything could get the corpse to twitch, it was Blade's hoard. That treasure was more than gold, it was the _future._ And if Ciera Ancora had to float _The Silver Maiden_ into that future on the blood of Figgins and a thousand like him… she'd do it.

* * *

 **Vasily Izhets  
**  
 **Category: Quartermaster**

There was a ship.

Vasily Izhets didn't know much about boats, but he guessed this wasn't one of the better ones. He didn't have much of a choice, though; he and that ship had the same destination in mind.

Well, that was a lie. But only in the details, and who paid attention to those?

He cast around a bit until he found a discarded brick in the back of the alley, then spread his cloak out on the ground, placed the brick in the middle, and wrapped it into a slightly oblong bundle. Then he picked it up and stepped into the noisy street.

"Clear a path!" he shouted, dramatically clutching the bundle close to his chest. "My wife's on board that ship, and she left our kit behind!"

Slowly the mob parted and Vasily passed through, making sure to soulfully thank everyone he could. Finally, he reached the gangplank and unsteadily walked up to the deck, where his path was barred by a large ferret's spear.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're goin' on about. We've got no mother cats on this ship; I'd know, I'm the Quartermaster."

Well, on to Plan B then.

Vasily straightened up, patted down his shirt, and tossed the bundle overboard, eliciting gasps and a few cheers from the assembled crowd. Everyone loved a good show.

"Fine, that was a lie. Truth is, I'm on something of a noble quest. My sister's been captured by a rich pirate who's also after the treasure, and he plans to force her to be his bride. Please, help me."

The Quartermaster stood digesting this for a while, ignoring the increasingly loud calls of his crewmates as they made the final preparations. Finally, he gave Vasily his conclusion:

"...You're an idiot."

"You have surprisingly acute judgment, my good sir, for that was also a lie." _Mostly._ "But I do have one truth to tell you today."

The ferret's brow furrowed and he leaned forward. "And what'd that be?"

The cat also leaned in, keeping one paw on the Quartermaster's right shoulder and his eyes fixated on something to the right of the pirate's head.

"That would be..." said Vasily, drawing every word out over his tongue.

" _What?!_ " growled the pirate.

"...goodbye," finished the cat, giving his companion's shoulder a hard shove to the left. At the same moment the gangplank lurched under them as the ship started its journey out of the harbor. Vasily curled his tail under the ferret's legs as he stumbled, and tipped him off into the water below. With creative curses ringing in his ears he sprinted up the plank and jumped on board just before it completely separated from the ship. He then collapsed on deck, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and watched the clouds roll by as he contemplated his lack of physical fitness.

"Hey, who the hell are you?" asked a searat, nudging him with his pirate looked around. "And where's our Quartermaster? I 'eard 'e was late gettin' on board, did he just desert us?"

"About that," replied the cat, sitting up. "Apparently he had a family emergency and had to leave. I'm his replacement."

"Family emergency? He ain't got no family."

Vasily grinned. "That's the point, actually. Apparently he made some promises to a girl, her father got involved…"

"Ah, say no more. You know anythin' about bein' a quartermaster?"

"That was my last job, actually," he said. Surprisingly, that wasn't a lie.

"Well, I suppose you'll 'ave to do then. By the power granted to me by bein' Second Mate, I 'ereby promote you to Quartermaster. Now go do yer job."

Vasily pulled himself up and meandered his way towards where he assumed the storeroom lay. Mulling over the events of the day, he concluded that he was looking forward to the conclusion of this whole mess.

Well, that was a lie.

* * *

 **Chak Ku'rill  
**  
 **Category: Slavedriver**

"They be like children: Need a flogging now and then ta keep 'em in line!" A sharky grin spread across Chak Ku'rill's salty face, lifting his plaited whiskers as the impudent squirrel he just whipped staggered back to his oar. The sea otter glanced at his shipmate, a young messenger stoat, who fidgeted awkwardly. "Gave me a cocky leer, that one. Best ta nip that sort o' thing in the bud."

The stoat nodded and his lip twitched with a smirk, though his eyes darted nervously.

"Eh. Erm – will that be all, Master Ku'rill?"

"Aye. Be off with ye then," Chak scowled. He twisted his new leather whip so it creaked pleasantly in his calloused paws, then started down the walkway between benches. The beat of the drums had ceased for the moment and the oars were raised as favorable winds carried the galley through the dark, slate-colored waters. The slaves were silent aside from a few ragged coughs, eyes downcast. They knew Chak was more dangerous during the lulls. He had grown so accustomed to the rhythm that it made him restless when the drums halted. He sought to fill that void any way he could, which often meant a beating of his own. And now that the stoat was gone, so was the potential distraction of conversation.

One slave, a mouse, decided to brave a gamble, and started to thump his foot on a floorboard,

"I once had a lass in Sarcatre,  
Sheeee ran away from me!  
Was it mah scent or was it mah face?  
Either way tis a sore disgrace!"

The slave paused as he sensed Chak's bulk looming over him, and kept his eyes glued to the floor. He braced, then cringed as he was assailed not with the stinging whip but with a bellowing roar of laughter. Only then did he dare to squint up at the slave driver.

The corsair otter stood, paws against his sides.

"A sea shanty? From a landlubber mouse?" He narrowed his eyes at the woodlander, though the smile did not leave his muzzle. "Ye've a smart set of pipes on ye, lad. Know any more lines than that?"  
"Yes sir, if it please you sir."

Chak nodded, "Carry on then."

The mouse continued to sing boldly, and Chak found his mood lighten significantly as a beat returned to his ears.

Being a taskmaster was draining on one's soul, and though Chak was rather a soulless blaggard to begin with, he found he preferred to believe his wards "happily oppressed." In the broad scope of things, they had it pretty good, after all – compared to other slaves, at least. They had regular meals, a blanket each to sleep on, and Chak rarely beat anyone to the point of death. He liked to think his moderate, more frequent floggings kept them subservient, and his bonus system worked to keep them competing with each other rather than rising against him. All they had to do was follow the rules and know their place and they could have very decent (albeit monotonous) lives. Comparatively, weren't most beasts' lives monotonous anyway?

As he "encouraged" the rest to take up the mouse's chorus, Chak Ku'rill felt a warmth grow inside; a warmth that was almost affection, as a beekeeper might feel for his swarm after a particularly large yield of honey.

"Aye," Chak crooned to himself, "Ye be havin' it easy, slave scum. Takes grit n' guts an' plenny o' blood ta get where I be…" He snorted and spat on the grimy floor timbers, "An' more ta git where I'm goin'."

The last verse reverberated with poignancy in his crusty torn ears:

"I once had a heart as pure as gold,  
Then it filled up with rot n' mold.  
Was it bad luck or was it the fates?  
Either way I'm bound for hellgates!"

* * *

 **Vera Silvertooth  
**  
 **Category: Cook**

Vera Silvertooth looked up from the simmering cauldron of soup as the door to the kitchen slammed open and Fort Blackfur's commander stormed in with a half-dozen of his biggest soldiers.

"Seize her," Captain Rigal said, and two of the soldiers grabbed Vera.

The vixen inclined her head nobly towards the rat as his troops manhandled her. "My good Captain, what seems to be the problem?"

"The problem, fox, is that my ruby amulet is missing."

Raising a paw to her mouth, Vera said, "How dreadful! Who could have taken it?"

Captain Rigal stalked up to her. "I think you already know the answer to that. I've been out on patrol and Naptooth said the only beast he saw near my rooms was you."

"Oh, dear! I was merely cleaning up the remains of your dinner. You can't possibly think that I had anything too do with..."

"That's exactly what I think," he interrupted. "So, you and all of your belongings are going to be searched, top to bottom. When I find my amulet, you'll wish you'd never been born."

Vera blinked wide, innocent eyes. "Oh, Captain, I know how much that amulet means to you, but I swear that I don't have it. Search, if it will make you feel better. I just ask that your men clean up any mess they make."

Rigal jerked his head to the door. "Get to it. Leave nothing unturned."

As four of the soldiers filed out, Captain Rigal himself searched Vera.

After a fruitless search, Rigal retired to a chair and waited.

Vera, meanwhile, straightened her apron. "If you please, Captain, may I return to my preparations. Supper won't cook itself."

"You're not getting off that easy. We'll find it."

She smiled. "I'm sure you will. Excuse me. My bread is starting to burn."

Vera used the corners of her apron to pull out loaves of perfectly baked bread from the oven. She lined them up near the window to cool, then returned to stirring her soup.

Captain Rigal's men returned. "Sorry, sir. No sign of it."

Rigal exploded from the chair and grabbed Vera roughly by the scruff of her neck. "I know you stole it, Vixen! Where is my amulet?"

This time, she grabbed the heavy knife from the table where it had earlier been chopping vegetables, and pressed it against Rigal's side through a chink in his armor.

"That is quite enough, Captain! I have meekly submitted to these unreasonable searches and you have nothing to show for it! I won't stand for it any longer. Release me!"

Rigal dropped his paw and stepped back, allowing his armed soldiers to step between him and the fox. "This isn't over yet, Vera. I'll find it."

Supper time came and went and the vermin of the fort ate without abandon. As night fell, so did the eyelids of all the beasts in the fort.

All, but Vera.

Close to midnight, she sat on a nearby hill and watched the wood fort, ablaze now with fire. She pulled out a loaf of bread leftover from dinner and began ripping it into large chunks. With a claw, she dug out a glint of silver from the loaf, revealing a beautiful necklace with a large ruby hanging from the chain.

She dropped the ruby amulet in a bowl of water to soften the bread dough from it.

"I found your amulet, Captain Rigal," she said in a sing-song voice.

* * *

 **Tooley Bostay  
**  
 **Category: Prisoner**

The brig was especially cold this night. The muffled rattling of rain from above told of a storm, and puddles of water had begun to form from several cracks in the overhead. The ship groaned against the push and pull of the torrid waves, swaying and bowing however nature saw fit.

In a small, rusty cell in the back of the brig, Tooley sat crouched in the corner. He drew his weather-beaten waistcoat closer to him and attempted to wriggle away from the spray of a puddle that had formed in the middle of the cell.

"Really should tell th' Cap'n 'bout this..." he mumbled to himself, frowning up at the troublesome leak.

It hadn't been his first time in the brig. Clumsy mistakes, drunken sea-songs taken too far, and one too many insults to Stitchtail's mother had all landed him here before. Especially that one time he had kitchen duty and a knife somehow wound up in First Mate Ginson's soup. They still called it "Cutthroat Stew" to this day.

But for once in his life, Tooley had no idea what he had done wrong.

The weasel reached up and slid a heavily-patched cap from over his ear. Running his fingers over the rim, he counted out six holes that had been newly gnawed into the hat. Had it really been six days? No, two of those had been when he half expected he was going to be thrown overboard, and a third was from when they forgot to give him supper last night.

The snap of a bolt loosening - and the accompanying groan of a wooden hatch - drew his attention away from the cap and to the stairway leading up to the deck. Rain poured in from the deck, and a figure ducked down onto the ladder.

It was a rat that stepped off, shaking the water off from his fur. He had a lazy eye that always seemed to be looking up, and several seasons-old gashes that cut across a crooked snout.

Tooley jumped to his feet, grinning widely. "Daggle, mate! Please tell me yer 'ere to get me outta this hole!"

Tooley looked past the rat to see two ferrets descend the ladder and step up beside Daggle, paws resting on cutlasses at their side. Tooley's smile faltered.

"Any, uh, any reason fer the convoy, mate?"

Daggle didn't respond as he fished out a set of iron keys from his coat. The cell door unlocked with a heavy clack and Daggle swung it open.

Neither spoke for a moment, with only the pattering of rain and groaning of the ship to fill the silence. Swallowing, Tooley croaked out the question that he'd been asking himself for days. "What's goin' on?"

Daggle finally looked up at him, his good eye focused firmly on him. "Ginson's dead. Got poisoned."

Tooley froze. He blinked at the rat for several moments, waiting for the tell-tale smile to spring the joke. There was nothing. His gaze trailed back to the two ferrets, whose grips tightened around their weapons. The reality of the situation suddenly hit him. He attempted to work out a response, but found his mouth dry and only managed a stuttering cough.

Daggle drew his cutlass and pointed it towards the ladder, adding in a low tone, "Yer best off not makin' things worse."

Tooley took several uneven steps forward. He wasn't sure if it was just the ship, but the world seemed to be twisting and turning as he walked. As he reached the ladder, he risked a glance back at Daggle. The rat simply gestured him onwards. Turning back around, he stuck his cap in his mouth and placed two tentative paws onto the ladder. He began working a new hole into the rim of his cap as he took the first step.

All at once, the brig seemed to be a very wonderful place.


	4. Anchors Aweigh

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Anchors Aweigh**

 _By: Robert Rosequill_

* * *

Port Hearth was abuzz with the hustle and bustle of beasts milling about the docks. The mid-morning breeze carried with it the familiar salty smell of the sea, bringing a smile to Robert's face. The hedgehog maneuvered himself and his family through the crowded docks, trying to avoid bumping into other beasts with his sailor's bag. His daughter, Maribel, was making that especially difficult however, running around her parents with gleeful abandon.

"Izzat the boat, Papa?" the little hogmaid asked, grabbing Robert's paw and pointing eagerly at the massive vessel docked nearby. The enormous ship was dwarfing the others moored nearby. With impressive sails and the Waverunner colors of yellow and blue across the sides, the beauty was destined to command the seas.

Robert laughed, looking down at the bouncing young one. "That ain't no boat, 'Bel, me dear! That there's a ship! An' a mighty fine ship too, if'n I say so meself." Maribel giggled, hugging her father's leg. The sailor chortled himself, glancing towards his wife Violet with a silly grin on his face. She returned him a halfhearted smile.

"So what's da boat, er, I mean da ship's name?" Maribel asked.

" _ _The Zephyr__ , me lil' flower. It means it's fast! Faster 'n anything!" Robert said.

The hogmaid squealed in delight. "So fast ya'll be back tomorrow, Papa?" The sailor's heart sank a little, and he tried his best to keep his grin.

"Not that soon, blossom, but real soon. You can bet on it, 'Bel," Robert said. "I'll be back for you lovelies sooner n' you think." The sailor winked, reaching for Violet's paw and giving it a squeeze. She squeezed back.

"And then that's it right?" Violet asked, sternness in her voice. Robert's heart sank a little more. "You don't have to sail anymore? This'd better not be like the last few..."

"Don' worry yourself love, O' course I don't," he replied. "Why would I need to sail after we get that trove o' gold in our paws? Fates, ain't nobody gotta sail again after that. 'Sides," Robert continued, placing a paw on Violet's swollen belly, "we got this lil' lad to worry 'bout."

Now it was Violet's turn to laugh. "Ohoho, what makes you so sure it's not another sweet lil' maiden?"

"Well it's only fair we get one o' each I'd say, heh heh heh!" Robert's chuckle was cut short as Maribel began frantically tugging on his trouser leg. "Now, now, now, me dear, what's got into you?"

The young one hopped up and down. "I forgot! I got a song for ya!"

Robert put his paws on his hips, eyebrows raised. "A song you say, eh? Well then let's hear it!"

Just as Maribel opened her mouth a shout boomed across the docks, "Last call, all paws on deck! _The _Zephyr__ be settin' off now! No time ta lose, move yer tails!"

The hogmaid's face fell and she started to sniffle. Robert, unable to stand it for a second, crouched down to her level and placed a paw on her shoulder. "Eh now, no tears there! When I get back you'll be able to sing till your beautiful lil' voice just cain't sing no more. And we both know that don't ever happen."

Maribel, sniffing just a bit, beamed. "Okay, Papa! An' I'll make it even better! I'll practice every day!"

"Now that's me lil' sunbeam!" Robert hugged her one long, last time, then stood up to face Violet. "An' no tears here either, love."

`"I'm not cryin'," Violet choked out, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're always careful."

"Righto, love, righto." Robert gave her a kiss, then a wink. "I'll be missin' you." After a slight wave, the sailor swung the large bag over his shoulder and made towards the gangway.

* * *

Robert's quarters aboard The __Zephyr__ was more than a little cluttered. Charts, maps and tools were scattered about, most on the ground rather than the large table in the room's center. A hefty telescope was leaning haphazardly against the wall, right next to an open porthole. The hedgehog himself leaned on the opposite side of the porthole, staring straight out at the evening sky. A familiar flask in his paw, the sailor took a swig.

"Ain't that the way it oughtta be."

Loud, pounding pawsteps snapped Robert out of his daydreams. Hurriedly, the hedgehog rushed to the desk, tossing the flask into a cubbyhole underneath while he grabbed whatever tool was nearby.

 _ _Knock! Knock! Knock!__

"Come on in, friend!" Robert shouted.

The door creaked open and a young hare entered the room, alone. Robert breathed a sigh of relief, dropping the compass he had been arbitrarily pressing against the star chart. Straightening himself, he greeted the hare.

"Fildering me bucko! I thought you were Lord Atlas. How've you been this fine day?"

"Absolutely spiffin', sah," the hare replied.

"Now that's jus' fine. Won any tussles today?" Robert asked.

"Hmm, well, if deck patrol counts for a 'tussle', I've bloomin' tussled rather a few hours o' bally downtime for my part, donchaknow!"

"So what brings you here?"

"Well, sah, 'tis official bus'ness, I'm 'fraid," Fildering replied. "No time f' chit-chat, y'know. The jolly old C.O. needs t' see you in Colonel Swiftpaw's quarters post-haste, wot."

"Again?" Robert groaned. "Is it 'bout the course?"

"Hmm, can't blinkin' say I know, ol' thing," the hare said, a quizzical look in his eyes. "'E just sent me t' get you; that's all I jolly well know."

 _ _If I gotta tell him we're goin' the right way one more bloomin' time. . .__ It seemed not a day would go by without the badger sticking his nose into Robert's charts and demanding more be done. Nothing more __could__ be done, but Atlas didn't like to hear that. The hedgehog sighed. "Well, let's go then, I want to stretch me legs anyways. I've been acquainted with this room much longer than I'd like. Want to join me?"

The two left the cramped room and began the stroll across the ship's deck stairs to Colonel Swiftpaw's quarters, giving a good hullo to anybeast they came across along the way. These were the moments Robert lived for as he savored the smell of the evening breeze and the sound of the waves crashing against the boatside. Once the two reached the staircase, the young cadet led the way up, with Robert chuckling at the hare's eager bounds up each step as the older sailor struggled to keep up.

Upon nearing the room, Robert stopped in his tracks. The door to the cabin was already wide open, revealing the badger's intimidating bulk right in the middle of the room, staring daggers at the two beasts. Colonel Swiftpaw was standing a good distance behind the badger, almost as far as the other end of the cabin.

"Mister Rosequill," the badger said.

Robert grinned, giving a friendly salute. "Hullo, m'lord. What seems to be the problem?"

"Leave us, Private Dillwithers," Atlas ordered, his eye never leaving Robert. Fildering gave an earnest salute, then left the three beasts.

Atlas waited until Fildering was out of earshot. The misty red of the Bloodwrath crept closer to the badger's pupil during the long pause, until finally he spoke, "I believe you are fully aware of the problem, Mister Rosequill. We are not where we are supposed to be. It has been six days. We were supposed to have reached the island by now. Why have we failed to do so?"

Robert cleared his throat. "Like I said a couple o' days ago, m'lord, your contact must've been mistaken. It's gonna take a bit more than jus' six days to get there."

"Are you certain?" Atlas growled.

"Quite certain, m'lord. I predict it'll be just a few more 'til we get there."

Atlas's face grew dark. "A few more days was not the plan, Mister Rosequill. Six was the plan. I did not hire you to get us lost. I hired you because I was promised that you did your job, and that you did it well. I am not convinced."

Robert gave the slightest of chuckles before remembering who exactly he was talking to. Cutting it short, the hedgehog simply replied, "Look, m'lord, I've been doin' me job, and I'm one o' the best at it there is. Whoever it is you've been talkin' to ain't. I'd suggest you stop listenin' to that bloke an' start listenin' to what I'm tellin' you. It'll be a couple o' days more. I cain't change that."

After Robert finished, Atlas's glare grew more intense, his single eye swirling with red. Despite this, the badger spoke calmly. "Mister Rosequill. Do you have family?"

Robert's eyes lit up. "Aw, well yes, o' course, m'lord! Why they're jus' the sun an' the moon, they are! You aughta meet 'em, you know. Violet makes jus' the best. . ." Atlas suddenly approached the hedgehog, stopping him mid-sentence. Colonel Swiftpaw, looking anxious, backed away as far as the tiny space allowed.

"I don't care about your family, Mr. Rosequill," Atlas growled coldly, his eye boring a hole into Robert's. "I was just making sure you did."

Robert's smile faltered at the badger's tone. Picking up on the threat, the hedgehog straightened himself upright to match the badger's glare. "Aye, that I do, m'lord." His eyes hardened. "More n' anything."

Before Atlas could respond, he was distracted by the sounds of someone clambering up the steps behind Robert. Rantings could just be made out as a squirrelmaid, Crue, made her way to the room.

"...and I just can't stand it! I spend hours each night making sure everything we need for this journey is where it's supposed to be, just so it can all go missing the next morning. I'm sick of it and I need YOU to handle it Swift. . ." The squirrelmaid froze once she found herself face to face with Atlas. ". . .Paw," she managed to squeak.

Colonel Swiftpaw inched closer towards the door. "Can it wait Miss Sarish? We're in the middle of a discussion, wot."

As Crue attempted to leave, Robert jumped at the opportunity to escape the badger's quarters. "Ain't no need to be leavin' alone there, friend!" Turning towards Swiftpaw, the hedgehog continued, "I'll go see what Miss Crue here needs help with, Colonel, so's you don't need to be worryin' about it." Glancing at Atlas, Robert added. "An' I cain't do nothin' until tonight to finish up me charts, anyway."

"I expect a report tomorrow," Atlas said simply. "Do not forget."

Robert smiled. "I never do, m'lord."

As Robert and Crue descended the stairs, the squirrelmaid looked up at the hedgehog, inquisitive. "How do you manage to talk to the Badgerlord like that?"

Robert shrugged, grin still on his face. "He's just like any otherbeast, only with a nasty temper heh heh heh."

"I don't know, Mr. Robert," Crue said. "I think he deserves some more respect than that."

"He deserves as much respect as I'm willin' to give him," Robert said simply. "An' after that lil' talk, it ain't as much as it used to be. Now, what can I help you with?"


	5. From Balm to Bane

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **From Balm to Bane**

 _By: Crue Sarish_

* * *

A careless hare was ordered into her infirmary, left paw wrapped in a rag and a braggart's bravery telling Crue he'd be a bit of a pawful. Indeed, it took twice as long to stitch the cut as it should have, and it wasn't until she suggested that she remove the paw instead that he sat still and quiet.

After she finished her task, Crue handed the hare a tiny paper-wrapped packet of comfrey, staring him straight in the eye as he lifted his good paw to take it. The cream-colored fur around her dark eyes made them appear larger as she lowered her voice and leaned in close. "I do not intend to spend the trip tending to the cuts and scrapes of careless beasts. I will tend to each of you, but woe betide the beast who comes to the sick bed when all my stores are bare..."

The young soldier moved to return the herb to the healer. "Thinkun wot that poor beast ought'n t' 'ave it. Ha! Me ol' fight'n paw be feelin' dandy come mornin', wot wot!"

Crue refused the offer, crossing her arms across her chest. "You will take it, you will use it, and you won't let this happen again, savvy?"

"Aye, ma'am."

Crue smiled sincerely as the young beast headed for the door. "Oh, and be sure to take an extra ladle of hotroot soup... to help with the healing."

The hare's eyes lit up as he paused at the door, a wry grin blossoming on his face. "If'n ye say, miss, I ain't be one t'gnore ye sage edvice!" With a tip of his imaginary hat, he left the room.

Shortly after her patient departed, the handle clicked and as the door swung open Colonel Frederick Swiftpaw entered the room, the tips of his ears nearly brushing the low ceiling. "Good day, Miss Sarish!"

Crue turned and looked upon her visitor, her face lighting up when she saw who it was. "Good day to you, Colonel! To what do I owe the honor? Footpaw isn't bothering you, is it?"

With the door closed he replied, one corner of his lip turned up in a small embarrassed smile. "Should have known you'd notice the limp. Can't hide it from everyone, wot. But no, I'm quite well. It's been a number of days since we set sail and I wanted to make sure your accommodations are satisfactory."

"More than satisfactory! It's truly a joy to be on a ship so grand." She put her cloth down and stepped closer. "I'd like to thank you again for the ample supplies you've furnished and this room is quite a step up from my last contract."

"Lord Atlas knows our best chance of success is if every beast aboard is healthy and in fighting spirits." He took a step further into the room, his eyes taking in the gleaming wooden furniture and the crisply made beds. He nodded his head in approval. "Much less cozy than most infirmaries I've seen. I see you're not one for cozy blankets and a tapestry of Martin to inspire hope and healing."

Crue shook her head, a slight twinge of disapproval accompanying the gesture. "While blankets have their use, patients need healing more than coddling. A dozen healers tried to save my sister when we were quite young. After all they did, I found little use for smoke and crystals and the invoking of spirits. I decided to learn what _actually_ heals beasts, and that's what I've stuck with."

"Fair enough. And I trust the crew is showing you the proper respect?"

Paws clasped in front of her, Crue looked down and felt a bit of a blush form. "Indeed they are, sir… At least, when I see them, that is."

"Oh?" One of his eyebrows raised as he focused his attention back on her.

"I'm quite satisfied to spend my time here, sir. The crew knows where to find me when I'm needed, and I can focus on my… scholarly pursuits when I'm not." She chortled. "I've never been a brilliant party guest, so I generally spend my time here."

Frederick nodded. "Few aboard the _Zephyr_ would share your conviction, but as you are satisfied, then so am I."

"Thank you, Colonel," Crue replied with a courteous nod. "I appreciate you stopping by."

"You're welcome…. Just alert me if anything comes up."

As he turned to leave, Crue asked, "Are you expecting trouble?"

The corner of his mouth turned up again, unable to completely hide what the hare was thinking, though she could only guess exactly what that meant. "Not necessarily. Just something not sitting right in my stomach… but chances are it's just last night's leeks. Good day, Crue."

"Good day."

The Colonel closed the door behind him. His words made her wonder what he was thinking, but with nothing concrete to worry about, she returned to her cleaning.

Several early bouts of seasickness and a number of joint strains had been all there was to keep her busy aboard the ship, with a couple knocks to the head of crewmen not watching their step down a hatch. Despite the lack of grander ailments to treat, Crue had mostly managed to keep herself busy aboard the ship. About twice the size of the Sunlit, there was much more ship for her to explore and more ship for the rest of the crew to mind, usually leaving her up to her own devices. She even had enough time to delve into some of the books she'd picked up for her own research. Given free reign to stock the ship with her tools of the trade, she figured her proprietor wouldn't mind the purchase of a half dozen useful books. She found "From Bane to Balm" a most fascinating read, and had even managed to procure a small vial of hemlock in the event the opportunity to experiment with it arose. In the meantime, it was carefully stowed within a small locked box at the bottom of her trunk along with a few rare herbs she'd managed to procure before the ship set sail.

* * *

After pulling open the door to her cabin, she took a single step inside before her nose caused her to stop. Cutting through the scent of herbs and cleanliness was the faint stench of somebeast that had neglected to wash for some time. She knew that that could have meant any number of sailors aboard this ship, but the scent differed from the soldiers and the riggers and the galley crew.

Before she went in, she looked to see if anyone was nearby. Holding out a paw toward a nearby hedgehog she asked, "Have you seen anyone go inside here recently?"

"Naw, ma'am," the sailor replied. "Jis you, tho I ain' been 'ere long."

None else nearby had seen anyone enter or leave recently. As faint as the scent was, Crue felt reasonably secure entering the room alone. She closed and locked the door behind her.

Surveying her cabin, nothing immediately appeared out of place. After carefully examining the cabinets, her trunk, and the small pack containing her personal effects, she discovered that someone had taken a bag of dried ginger, two of her surgical knives, the scissors she'd been using earlier that day, and a silver button off of one of her coats. With each item that was taken, her brow furrowed in anger all the more until she finished writing out her list of stolen property. At that point her eyes spent more time closed so that for a few moments she didn't directly have to face it.

Once her inventory was finished, she unlocked the door and stepped out. She pulled aside a hare that happened by be walking past, a mild air of disappointment on his face. "You, soldier!"

He snapped to attention. "Fildering Dillwithers, at y'service, wot!"

"You will watch this door until I return. No one is to enter it until I return. Clear?"

"This room's as safe as a bally old fortress with me guardin' it, if I do say so m'self! Nobeast passes, yes sah! Er, I mean, marm. Yes, marm! Three bags full, marm!" the hare added with a wink.

"Good." Crue shook her head. _Hares! Never a simple 'Aye,' is it?_ she mused. With the guard posted, she went in search of the first mate to inform him of the situation. A Cabin Boy - Scully, if she remembered correctly - crossed her path and when she asked for Colonel Swiftpaws's current whereabouts, he pointed to a large set of double doors at the top of a staircase not too far away.

Before she could knock on the door one of the sentries held out a paw. "Yer busy-ness'll haf t' wait, ma'am!"

"It will not!" She pulled the list of purloined goods from her pocket and waved it in the air. "I joined up with what I believed was an honorable crew! I saw order, discipline, and comradery, but now I see it's all a lie. No one respects the work I do and I just can't stand it! I spend hours each night making sure everything we need for this journey is where it's supposed to be, just so it can all go missing the next morning." She swiftly stepped past the guard and shouted at the door as she turned the knob.

"...And I need YOU to handle it Swift…"

The Colonel was not the only one in the room. To her shock and horror, the Badgerlord stood much closer to her than the hare. Her voice faded as she finished her sentence. "...Paw."

"Can it wait, Miss Sarish?" Frederick asked. "We're in the middle of a discussion."

Crue nodded, her mouth glued shut, and she started to back out of the room. Before she could take a full step, Robert clapped a paw jovially on her shoulder, his sudden presence startling her. He spoke to her first. "Ain't no need to be leavin' alone there, friend," she told her jovially before turning to Swiftpaw. "I'll go see what Miss Crue here needs help with, Colonel, so's you don't need to be worryin' about it." Glancing at Atlas, Robert added. "An' I cain't do nothin' until tonight to finish up me charts anyway."

"I expect a report tomorrow," Atlas said simply. "Do not forget."

Robert smiled. "I never do, Cap'n."

The two sentries closed the doors, and Crue caught Atlas staring at her with his one good eye. She couldn't begin to know what was going through his mind, but his barely restrained rage was evident in that momentary glance. Equal parts of fire and ice ran from the tops of her ear tufts to the the tip of her now rather bristly tail. As she thought about what Robert had said to the Badgerlord, she was surprised he wasn't in her infirmary already.

"How do you manage to talk to the Captain like that?" she asked.

Robert shrugged, an abnormally normal grin still on his face. "He's just like any otherbeast, only with a nasty temper, heh heh heh."

"I don't know, Mr. Robert," Crue replied. "I think he deserves some more respect than that."

"He deserves as much respect as I'm willin' to give him," Robert said simply. "An' after that lil talk, it ain't as much as it used to be. Now, what can I help you with?"

* * *

The gray squirrel being questioned laughed at Robert's self-deprecating tale, but he shook his head. "Ha!... Aw, sorry, sir, but I didn' see the door open. Think I saw Hapley Horrish 'round that time. He might'a seen sumin'."

"Ah well, thank you, son. Jus' let me know if you catch wind of somethin'."

"Aye, sir!"

Crue had sat through the questioning of six crewmates already, none of whom she was well acquainted with. Each time someone came in, she watched for a twitch in the eyes or a break in the voice that might reveal the guilty party, but she couldn't detect a lie among any of the witnesses. Even though it was still early into the investigation, she was frustrated that no one seemed to know anything.

Her constant vigilance was draining and she needed some air. Turning to Robert she asked in a weary voice, "Would you mind if I sit the next one out?"

Either the strain showed on her face or Robert was being more generous with his time than she would have been. He nodded and stood up. As he took a moment to stretch, he stated, "Aye, miss. You jus' leave it to ol' Robert to find the brig'in 'n show 'im what 'appens when you steal from a maid o' your caliber."

Not entirely immune to flattery, Crue couldn't help but smirk. "Thank you, Mister Rosequill."

Robert exited and Crue exhaled deeply. Finally alone with her thoughts once again, she sighed at the injustice of her plight. She put her head in her paws and whispered, "I really thought things would be different."

With no one around to see her, she began to sob.

* * *

The next day, she conducted a quick visual inventory of everything in her room before she left to visit the galley. She locked everything that could be locked, exited the room, and then frowned at the the fact that her door had no lock. It was one thing to keep the room's contents safe, but quite another to keep an injured beast from entering.

Quickly marching through the ship, she couldn't help but believe that any beast could have been the culprit. A rigger could have needed some new knives, a cook could have been lacking in ginger, and a silver button…. Her eyes scanned every coat and vest and uniform for something out of place. She watched for shifty eyes and nervous glances in her direction, and was rewarded with neither. Not even a nail seemed out of place.

* * *

That evening Crue spent her time weeping again after a few more of her belongings went missing, while much of the crew gathered on the main deck. Colonel Swiftpaw's angry voice cut through the air as he informed the crew that he was aware of the recent acts of thievery and that it would not be tolerated. Any beast caught with any contraband would be dealt with swiftly and severely, and any beast who found the culprit would be summarily rewarded for his or her efforts.

Even hearing his voice did little to assuage her fears. After the crew dispersed to return to their duties, a few came by to visit and assure her that the guilty party would be found. She thanked each in turn, but then informed them that she had work to get back to before they could engage her in further conversation. The only words she felt would help the situation were ones that stated that the mystery had been solved. No beast offered that.

Once she was alone, she made sure all the cabinets were locked before she opened her trunk and pulled out the small box at the bottom. She hadn't yet tested the quality of the sea buckthorn oil she'd managed to procure before leaving port and now seemed like a good time to do so. Once that was finished, she pulled out one of her books and began reading. A couple of hours later, she closed her eyes… just for a minute…

However much time had passed, Crue lifted her head from the workbench and set her book down, careful not to set it in the small puddle of spit that had formed. Not typically one to fall asleep while reading, she shook her head in disbelief, then cringed as her neck protested the sudden movement. "Mustn't do that again," she whispered to herself.

As soon as she was upright, her stomach growled; it had been some time since she'd last eaten. She shuffled out of the room and put a cloth in the door once more so she could tell if someone other than her entered.

Ten minutes later, hot soup sloshed over her fingers as reached for the doorknob and saw that the cloth was missing. She hardly noticed it in her anger at someone having again entered without her permission.

"Your mother will weep over your grave if you're still in here!" she shouted as she entered.

She heard no sound in reply. After she set her soup down on the floor she lit a candle and took a look around. Nothing hid in the shadows, but she was able to smell the blood that was somewhere in the room. After searching for a short time, she noticed a number of drops next to her workbench. Her eyes widened in alarm as she realized that in her exhaustion she had forgotten to return the box to her trunk and it was now sitting there, lid open.

Her stomach churned and her head spun as she realized the hemlock was gone. A thief with a deadly poison was now running loose aboard the _Zephyr._

"Colonel..." she whispered in shock. "I must warn Lord Atlas…"

Pushing nausea aside, she fled the infirmary and began to wake the ship with her shouting.


	6. We Are Going to Have a Wonderful Party

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **We Are Going to Have a Most Wonderful Party**

 _By: Vasily Izhets_

* * *

In retrospect, Vasily's plan had one major flaw: any crew stupid enough to let him on no questions asked probably wasn't very smart at anything else either.

"The captain'll be seein' you now," growled the rat at his back, shoving him forwards.

Vasily stumbled, slipped on the blood coating the deck, and did a magnificent faceplant onto the gore-smeared wood. The rat laughed.

Vasily ignored her, ran to the railing, and returned the fish he'd eaten for lunch to its original home.

"Haha! Yer an odd one, ain't ya? Ya dish it out, but ya can't take it."

"Yes, yes, that was me, fearless warrior," he muttered. That was a lie, of course; after his crewmates had shoved him first over the gangplank he'd spent the remainder of the fight hiding in a barrel, and had been caught trying to sneak back over after it became clear his side had lost. And now he was a captive aboard the _Silver Maiden_. It looked cleaner than the _Deadwake_ had been, apart from all the blood, but he doubted he'd have long to experience the amenities. Best case scenario he spent some time as a galley slave, then jumped ship once they made landfall, but he didn't actually know how to pick locks and doubted he'd last that long anyway.

 _Well, that's a pretty pitiful end to this whole adventure. She was probably right about me, for once in her life._

After a while Vasily noticed that instead of heading towards the captain's cabin, his captor steered him deeper into the ship's hold, and soon they came to a closed door. The smell of blood was far stronger than it should have been so far from the upper deck. The wildcat felt his throat dry.

The rat knocked on the door. "Cap'n? I got their Quartermaster for ya. He looks like a fearsome one, better keep yer eyes on him, haha!"

"Come in," the unseen occupant replied, and so they did.

The room was sparsely furnished, only containing a few crates, a chair, and a ferret, the last of which sucked his eyes towards her immediately. She wasn't particularly large or menacing, but her cold stare emitted such an aura of authority and cruelty that Vasily felt himself go weak at the knees.

She gestured towards the chair, and he noticed that it already had ropes tied to it. So it was one of _those_ kind of meetings. Only one thing for it, then.

Vasily flung himself to the ground, pressing his forehead into the spot directly in front of the ferret's boots. "I didn't kill any of your crew, I swear! Greyjaw was an incompetent fool, I'm not going to die for him. Ask me anything, I promise on my life I'll tell you everything I know!"

And if necessary, several things he didn't know. He wanted to be a survivor, not an information broker.

He felt the lip of her boot go under his forehead, then it lifted his head up so that she was looking down directly into his eyes. Vasily felt like he was going to throw up again.

"Where's the _Deadwake_ heading?" she asked.

 _Oh thank Fates, an easy one._ "Captain Blade's hidden treasure island. Greyjaw claimed we were only a few weeks away."

"What was your course?"

"South, definitely south! Um…" Vasily gulped. He still knew absolutely nothing about navigation. The Captain's eyes narrowed.

"Wait, waitwaitwait! Your beasts captured our lookout, he'll know more than I do! Another cat, young, name of Figgins. Greyjaw told him which landmarks to look for." I think.

She removed her foot from his chin, and beckoned him to rise. Then she punched him in the gut.

The wildcat emitted a small groan as he sank back to the floor. He… probably deserved that.

"I lost a good quartermaster in that fight. _You_ are going to be a better quartermaster," she said, leaving off the obvious 'or else.' "I'm going to assign one of my crew to assist you in your duties until you prove you can be trusted. Now, you're dismissed; go and get cleaned up."

Vasily grabbed the arm of the chair and hoisted himself up, then gave a weak salute. "Aye, Captain..."

"Ciera. Ciera Ancora." She then turned around, which he took as his cue to leave.

As he wobbled out of the room, the rat from earlier passed him and he could hear Ciera ordering her to bring in Figgins. Vasily could only hope that the kid spilled his guts quickly, and that this new Captain liked what she heard.

Not for the first time he questioned whether this whole ordeal was really worth it, and once again he promised himself that it was.

* * *

"All right, this is the last one," said Vasily, slapping the top of the barrel for emphasis and holding up a coin in his other paw. "Heads I win, tails you lose."

As the small copper disc spun into the air in front of the cat, his companion's eyes never left his face. Vasily gulped; Vera Silvertooth, as a cook, was theoretically subordinate to the Quartermaster, but he was about the only beast on the crew she could claim seniority over, meaning pulling rank was useless for either of them. However, her stare was filled with spiders and hellfire.

The coin clattered to the ground between the cat and the fox. Vasily picked it up and forced a grin. "Haha, that was a lie. I'll test it, I'll test it."

Vera nodded. "Good. I've got a tuna to get back to. I left it marinating in garlic, oil, and just a pinch of hotroot. It should be just about perfect, but if it sits too much longer, it won't be fit to serve anybeast!"

The cat cupped his paws under the spigot and the vixen opened it up, sending a small waterfall splashing into his impromptu cup. Vasily lowered his head, noted the ripples caused by his shaking paws, and lapped up the clear, fresh water.

The pair sat down on opposite crates and waited silently. After about a minute, Vera asked, "Well, you dying?"

"Nope. Looks like whatever killed Ginson wasn't from down here, at least."

"How many barrels was that?"

Vas pulled out a stained, crumpled manifest. "Seventeen… plus four crates of dried meat, two of vegetables, and… far more biscuits than I want to know. 'Gates, what a way to spend an afternoon."

"Poor thing... Though I tested far more than you and I wasn't scared."

"Right… right, you weren't." Vasily narrowed his eyes, then opened them wide and sat up. "Hey, did you check the food in the kitchen?"

The fox tilted her head. "What, was I supposed to? I've just been feeding it to the crew like normal."

Vasily blinked. "Well… that's… fine, I guess. I don't know why the Captain made us do this anyway, it was pretty obviously an intentional killing."

"Some of the crew were worried that one of the beasts from your old ship had stowed away and were sabotaging us."

"Nobeast is that loyal to Greyjaw, I could have told them that…" Vas marked the final 'x' on the manifest with a piece of charcoal and raised himself from his seat. "Well, I'm going to go report to the Captain now. You can go back to your kitchen to… caress the vegetables, or whatever it is you do on your free time."

"Preparing the tuna for you ungrateful lot," she shot back as they ascended the stairs to the upper deck.

"Oh, right. You better save some of that for me, I put my life of the line for you."

"I'll save you the eyes."

They parted ways after they stepped into the dense fog that had engulfed the upper deck, but as Vera headed off to the galley Vasily could have sworn her step had an extra bounce in it, and her tail an extra swish. It was tempting to judge her strange for loving her craft above all else, but Vas could understand her thinking.

Well, that was a lie. Food was food; eat it, and it's gone. Vera was an odd beast, but a clever one for catching the "I win, you lose" trick.

Thankfully, not clever enough to notice that he'd used a double-headed coin for all the recently-opened barrels.

* * *

"Vasily Izhets reporting, Captain."

"Come in."

He stepped through the door with his wide blue hat in his paws, shivering as he crossed the threshold. He knew that he felt cold every time he entered the Captain's cabin, but wasn't sure whether it was from fear or because Ciera Ancora's coat was said to suck all light and heat out of a room. Just because he'd started that rumor didn't make it any less true.

"By the fact that you're not dragging a corpse I take it the hold must have come up clean."

"Aye, ma'am. All the foods Ginson had for his last meal were safe when they left the hold, at least."

There was a pause, during which Vasily remembered every single item from the stores he'd bartered away. It was quite an impressive list for only being on the crew for a couple of months. Then Ciera asked, "How's Vera feeling about the tuna?"

"I've seen mothers less proud of their kits, why?"

The ferret leaned forward on to her desk, spreading out her arms. "The crew is getting restless, Quartermaster. We sighted land today, but a lot of wreckage is passing the ship as we get closer to the island, on top of all this poisoning business. Therefore, in order to take everybeast's mind off such unpleasant things, we are going to have a party tonight. Bring up a few casks of grog, celebrate our imminent landfall over some drinks and Vera's pride and joy."

A slow smile spread across Vasily's face. "Ahhh, I see. Sounds like good fun; I'm looking forward to it already."

"I should hope so, you're setting it up. Dismissed."

* * *

The thing about ships, Vasily had quickly learned, is that they required near-constant effort to be kept functional. On top of all the riggings and ropes and other devices he still didn't know the names of, the crew themselves required an incredible amount of maintenance. Things were different back on the plantation; all he had to do was count boxes and sell them to merchants at exorbitant prices, and he had slaves to do the heavy lifting.

Here, he had to be a bit more creative.

"Oy! Chak, mate!"

The otter nodded to one of his assistants and walked over to Vas, clapping the cat on the shoulder.

"Ahoy, matey! What be ye adoin' down 'ere?"

"Chak my friend, do you like grog?"

His furry brows knitted together like mating worms. "That a trick question? O'course I do."

Vasily grinned. "Glad to hear it! In that case, how would you like to assist me in handling large amounts of that good stuff in preparation for a most wonderful party tonight?"

There was a pause.

"Tell it ter me straight, Vas."

"I need you to help me move barrels."

"Arrr, why didn't ye say so? Aye, I cain help ye with that."

"Ah, thanks. Follow me, it's over here in the hold…"

"Ya know, Vas," commented Chak as they walked, "ye never did tell me what yer gonna do with yer share o' the treasure."

"Oh right, we were discussing that yesterday, weren't we?" All Vasily remembered was that the conversation had ended with him giving one of his companions an empty vegetable sack in exchange for an old metal flask.

"Yarr, so ya got an answer?"

"Of course." _Not._ "What kind of pirate would I be if I didn't?"

"But ye ain' a pirate," commented the otter, lifting a full barrel of grog with ease. Vasily contented himself with a three-quarters empty one and they began the journey to the upper deck.

"Damn, is it that obvious?"

"Aye," came the flat reply.

"Well, you're not wrong; the River Moss was as much water as anybeast in my family's seen until now. And now two of us are sailing. Funny, that."

"Fates, there be another one o' ye out thar? The world b'ain't prepared."

Vasily set down his barrel and drummed his fingers on the lid. "Well, we're pretty different for siblings. She's evil, I'm the most charming beast you'll ever meet… But family, you know? Some things are important."

"Yarrr." The otter nodded.

"So you must have something to say about that," he probed as they descended again. Chak's past was largely an enigma to the cat, as well as the entire crew. He'd somehow made it out of the oarbanks without a burning desire to emancipate his brethren, and Vasily had seen enough woodlanders' reactions to slavery to know that wasn't normal.

"Nay, not really. Jus' agreein' with ye."

 _Take the bait, why don't you? I'm sure you've got a horrible story for every one of those scars, and I need to know what keeps you from strangling us all at night! Grudges don't vanish like a manor after a fire-_

"So tell me about this sister o' yers, matey."

The unexpected request caught Vasily off guard, causing him to bump his knee on the table he was carrying. "Why do you ask?"

"Ye be sayin' she's 'evil,' like ye don' git along, yet ye be sailin' after 'er. What be the story thar?"

The cat laughed, with an edge of bitterness to it. "Why, it's the classic heroic tale you've heard enough times to make you sick. A bunch of pirates went upriver to buy some slaves from our plantation, we didn't like their prices, a fight started, they kidnapped my sister to use instead, and I left my dear friend behind to go chasing after her."

"Ah." He paused. "So how be she evil?"

"Oh, that was a lie. Really, she's a wonderful beast." _Lie_. "Gracious and grateful to everybeast." _Lie_. "She means more to me than anyone else in the world." _Lie lie LIE-_

Chak chuckled. "Aw, that be real nice. Well, here's ta findin' 'er, matey."

"Aye, though it's been so long I don't even know what I'd say to her."

Of course, that was a lie.

"HALT, and drop anchor!" came the call from up in the crow's nest, accompanied by four chimes of the ship's bell. Chak put down his barrel next to the others and looked back towards the hold.

"…need ta pull up the oars an' feed the slaves. Be ye alright takin' it from 'ere?"

Vasily look around at the impressive quantity of alcohol they - mostly Chak - had managed to bring up. "Should be all right, thanks for the help, mate. I'll be saving a seat and a drink for you later!"

"Arrr, ye don' 'ave ta tell me twice!"

As the sea otter disappeared below deck, Vas took the opportunity to lie down on a nice coil of rope and take advantage of the small ray of the setting sun that forced its way through the clouds and the fog.

"Aaah… this is the life."


	7. Chak the Cruel

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Chak the Cruel**

 _By: Chak Ku'rill_

* * *

*CRACK!*

The sea otter's whip snapped across the squirrel's shoulders, leaving behind a puffy welt.

"Don't matter what ye _think_ yer name be, tree scab. Only thing what matters 'round here is what _I_ be callin' ye. An' if that be Scrufftail, then that be yer name. An' if it be Baublebritches ye best be answerin' ta Baublebritches! Ya fath'm?"

"Yes sir," the squirrel muttered forcibly through gritted teeth.

The drums had stopped for the night as the pirate ship dropped anchor and Chak Ku'rill began the evening routine as he often did.

"Minstrel!" he barked.

"Yes sir!" a mouse replied with lively interest.

"Come on up here an' show this scurvy bilge-swigger what it means ta be one o' Chak's crew. An' sing us the slop song. Looks like grub's here."

The musical mouse settled in next to the squirrel then broke into a lighthearted ditty, swinging his arms and bumping elbows with Scrufftail enthusiastically.

"Oh the slimy slop of Chak Ka-rule  
Is a putrid sort o' runny stew  
It looks like snot an' tastes like poooooooo-  
Oh, it's time for slaver's gruel!

"Gruel, gruel, a pox most cruel  
Yet a sadly necessary fuel  
To shape an oarsbeast like a tool  
Oh, tiz time for slaver's gruel!"

A rat had rolled in a half-barrel on wheels full of steaming liquid and preceded Chak backwards down the aisle as the otter ladled out portions to his slaves in time with the tune. Most of the slaves joined in with the mouse, hoping to glean a larger serving.

"Yo ho ho! Yoo hoo hoo!  
What makes up yonder loathsome brew?  
Corns an' crust from Chak's footstool,  
It's time for slaver's gruel!

"Though the bane of any gourmand's rule,  
Yet it seldom fails to make us drool,  
Cause there's nothin' else we'd rather do  
than eat more slaver's gruel!"

The slaves repeated the song until Chak filled the last of the chipped, wooden bowls, granting seconds even to a lucky few who he viewed as demonstrably servile. He saved the last scoop for Minstrel, as it was the thickest and most coveted portion. The mouse was gutsy and even a bit cheeky, which Chak appreciated. Perhaps in time, Minstrel would earn a position with more power and influence – if he survived, that is.

The slaves were finished and had tucked away their bowls beneath their benches before the rat and the empty barrel even had time to leave. Chak ducked back into his small quarters and snatched a jar of pickled chestnuts from his cabinet. He counted the nuts to be sure none were missing then strode back out, swirling the jar in one paw so the chestnuts spun in a mini maelstrom. Hungry eyes stared, mesmerized.

"Now," boomed Chak's voice, "I'd like ta know if there be any o' ye what think ye might deserve one o' these pearls o' sweetness."

Several paws flashed into the air. Chak recognized the predictable dozen lowlifes who made it a habit to belly crawl into his good graces. Rarely did they have anything worth reporting, as the other fifty or so knew they couldn't be trusted. But a short hedgehog near the wall caught his eye.

"You there, Hodgepodge. What 'ave ye got?"

The hedgehog pointedly avoided the looks of his peers. "Snubnose, sir. I saw him hiding somethin' 'neath the rim of his bench."

Chak moved toward the familiar vole – a beast that gave Chak few problems. He'd even received double portions tonight, which irked the slave driver somewhat.

"That true, Snub?"

The vole looked near to tears, confirming the accusation without uttering a word. Chak reached under the bench and felt around, finding an object wedged in a seam. He pulled it out and scrutinized the pendant, which seemed to be a tiny carving set in a silver frame. Chak raised a brow at the offending vole, who trembled and shook.

"Please sir," He pled, "It's just a keepsake. It don't do no harm!"

"Ya know the rules, Snubnose. An' this be against 'em."

The vole whimpered, but nodded, bowing his head and blinking rapidly. Chak scowled, pocketing the pendant, then turned to address the rest of the slave crew.

"This ship be yer home now, slavescum! No use hangin' on ta things that ain't an' cain't be. The sooner ye can accept that, the better off ye'll be."

He tossed a chestnut to Hodgepodge. Snubnose's bauble had been harmless, but it could have been something much more dangerous.

After putting the jar back in its place and locking the cabinet, Chak returned to the captives, pulling automatically at the thin chain around his neck where a single key hung. One by one he manacled each of his sixty-one slaves in place, two to a bench. It felt oddly subservient to kneel before them in this way, but it was important to the crusty sea otter that he do it himself, as a form of personal life insurance. When he reached Minstrel, the mouse actually wished him a good night. Chak grunted and finished his task before standing to scan his wards. He made sure no blankets were missing, as some slaves had been known to steal from others, then snuffed out the lanterns to conserve oil.

All was silent save for the creak of the ship and the occasional sniffle or cough. Chak retreated to his quarters and drew the curtain closed. This did little to stifle the snores of the slaves, or their stink for that matter, but Chak valued the ability to listen in on the whispers and quiet conversation.

Tonight, however, he had other plans.

* * *

"Arrr – Scabeye! Look lively!" Chak fake-boxed a ferret on the upper deck, catching him off guard. Scabeye lifted his own fists in playful defense then laughed, clapping Chak on the back.

"Well if it isn't Chak the Cruel! It's been ages, mate! Ye've been holed up in the lower decks far too long!"

"Aye, that I have. Them slaves be needin' a nursemaid me thinks."

"Har har! Or maybe they just need a good _flogging,_ " the ferret suggested pointedly.

"Ye cain't always fix broken with more breakin,' mate. Ye gotta be _creative._ "

The ferret tutted, shaking his head. "Ye've got a soft spot fer them scurvy beasts, me thinks! Allus makin' sure they be fed proper an' that somebeast be changin' their piss pots…poor Tooley. Now he's in the brig I bain't be surprised if ye be doin' it yerself!"

Chak huffed and growled. "Ye be thinkin' _wrong_ , me bucko. We've sixty-one slaves n' thirty oars. That be two per paddle an' one ta beat the drums. Each be vital ta keep this here ship movin'." Chak frowned thoughtfully, stroking his braided whiskers, then pointed a claw at Scabeye. "Think o' them like a garden, mate. It be needin' care an' atten-shun ta give ye a good yield."

"If ye say so, matey," the ferret replied distractedly. "Hey, Vera's been workin' on a tuna the lads caught this mornin'! Nuff ta go 'round twice over, rumor says!"

Chak's face split into a wide grin. "Well blow me down – that _do_ sound flavorsome!"

"Yeah. Tell ya what, Chak, mate – I'll catch up with ye later. Gonna try me luck in Deadpaw's bone toss, me thinks!" The ferret pirate rubbed his paws together with anticipation and danced over to a group of other beasts, who were taking bets in a circle.

"Arrrr." Chak nodded after him, then filled his lungs deeply with fresh ocean air. It had definitely been too long. But slave driving was more than a job to Chak. It was a profession. Most of his crewmates had no idea how much cunning and effort it took to maintain a healthy and obedient slave crew, and that required dedication.

Chak surveyed the upper deck, trying to spot a certain telltale, droopy blue hat. Vasily, at least, seemed more understanding than the others. This was probably because the quartermaster was manipulative in his own right. The cat had invited him up to share a drink, as the captain had declared a cask of grog be opened in celebration of their approach. Chak doubted the crew would stop at a single cask, yet he was eager to get started, as supplies were limited.

"Finally made it out of the bilge, I see!" A gray cat appeared at Chak's elbow, sans the usual wide-brimmed hat he wore during daylight hours. He sniffed and made a face. "Though it seems you brought the essence of it with you…" He waved his paw elegantly before his nose as though wafting an enticing aroma, "Essence of galley slave!"

Chak grinned and grabbed Vasily's head under his arm, scrubbing the top of his head with his knuckles. "Arrr, Vasily, ye scurvy sutler!"

"Augh! Ugh!" The cat spluttered and made a retching noise, pulling out of the grab. "What part of 'you stink' did you miss there, mate?" He straightened his all-weather vest and smoothed his head fur with a snuff of irritation.

"Arrrr," Chak agreed. "Whaddaya say we go find us some grog?" He patted his messmate on the shoulder with some affection.

"Grog? I can do far better than that, friend." Vasily held up a tall mystery bottle. "Rum!"

"Well boil me britches! How'd ye come by such a prize?" Chak inspected the bottle with a yellow-toothed grin, pulling the stopper and snorting at the powerful fumes.

"Well, if you must know, I traded an authentic pair of shark-hide boots."

"Which were really a phony pair o' wax cloth galoshes, aye? Har har har!"

Vasily looked affronted. "As a matter of fact, they were _quality rubberized canvas._ "

"Arr, that be my mistake, har har!" Chak took a swig of the rum and grinned.

Vasily directed Chak to a pair of comfortable stools he'd reserved for the occasion, and it didn't take long for Chak to absorb an alarming portion of the bottle's contents whilst they conversed. This did not seem to bother the cat in the least, however, and he smiled as Chak appeared to loosen up. A few other crew mates joined them when the fish was being passed around, adding their own jokes and tales of personal prowess to the mix. Vasily wowed the circle of pirates with extraordinary adventures that Chak was sure he invented on the spot, but soon his attention returned to the slave driver who had become suitably saturated.

"So, Chak, I've been wondering," he ventured, "how did you end up with all those scars on your paws?"

A moment of silence hung in the air as the circle of beasts strained their ears. Chak made a point to never talk about his past, after all, so there was an unusual amount of interest.

"Arrr, it be long ago, matey – afore Blade came along an' built 'is pirate-friendly ports. There be few ways ta maintain a vessel o' disrepute back then, an' corsairs aplenty sought seafolk like me ta scrape the barnacles offa their ships' underbellies. Twas a quick n' dirty solution, but right dangerous, as ye might fath'm. One otter'd be cut an there be blood in the water. Three otters get cut and there be a whole lot more. T'were like chummin' fer sharks when a job needed done. But many a time they baint lettin' ya outta them waters til the job be finished, see?" Chak squinted an eye and nodded at the near-empty rum bottle.

"Yarrr, me thinks them be terms few mariners be keepin' to," commented a weasel sitting nearby on a barrel. "Musta been offrin' a hefty sum!" He saluted Chak with his tankard.

Chak glared at the weasel, then at nothing in particular. "T'weren't up ta me, mate." He finished off the bottle and chucked it off to one side where it shattered against the deck. "T'were by force."

Some of the pirates shifted uncomfortably. Chak's background was bound to differ from their own, as he obviously was not born into piracy, but assumptions had been made that his initial enlistment had at least been voluntary.

"Yer a survivor," a sage old searat named Halfear interceded, before it got too awkward. "We all be livin' life against the odds out here. An' weren't Grubclaw conscripted, Bloodeye?"

The weasel nodded, "Aye, at the start. But he be signin' up fer this an' other voyages hisself."

Chak nodded. "As I were sayin', that be long ago. I be but twelve seasons at the start, an fifteen when I be promoted."

"Caw, slave drivin' afore ye even came o' age!" Braka laughed. "Chak, ye be a blaggard if ever I did meet one, mate!"

"I bain't be surprised if'n he were crackin' the whip on 'is own mum, truth be told," remarked Bloodeye.

"Aye!" chortled Braka, then raised his voice to a high pitch. "Shut yer face, Mumsie! I be goin' ta bed when I jolly well feels like it!" The ferret lashed out with an imaginary whip, imitating the crack.

Chak laughed along good-naturedly. The jokes served only to build up his fearsome reputation.

"I be thinkin' 'is Mum be 'avin' a pree-mo-nishun when she spawned 'im," Braka suggested. "As she be namin' 'im 'cruel'."

"Yarrr! He be destined ta be a villain."

It was only then that Murdin, a typically reserved stoat, decided to speak his mind, "Wudlanders be a cowardly lot. That's why they be _enslaved_ so easy." He sneered at Chak, challenge in his bloodshot eyes. "That a wudlander be slappin' 'round other wudlanders fer show ain't such a shock ta me, mates."

Chak stiffened noticeably, but the stoat's usual reticence had been washed away by grog.

Murdin leaned forward. "D'ye know how many _otters'_ throats I've slit in me lifetime?" He pulled his dagger free, licking the blade clean. "How many o' them d'ye serpose were family?"

Chak showed the stoat his yellowed fangs. "None I care about, mate, but ye be treadin' dangerous waters…"

"Ye think I be scared o' ye, sea dog?" Murdin scorned.

An alarmed Vasily stepped in, putting a paw to Chak's shoulder. "C'mon mate, he's just drunk. Come back over here. Lemme serve you some of Vera's excellent tuna. You don't want to miss it..." He managed to get Chak to stand and turn his back on the stoat, albeit with effort and much cajoling.

Murdin's derisive voice continued. "Once a slave, allus a slave. See, he knows who his betters be."

The stoat barely had the last word out when Chak's fist smashed into his jaw, dropping him like an anchor.

Still breathing heavily from the rush, Chak stood over the crumpled form and scowled.

"When 'e wakes up, tell 'im I'd be glad ta show 'im more o' me submissive nature."


	8. Scully Smells a Rat

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Scully Smells a Rat**

 _By: Gordon Hagglethrump a.k.a Scully Craws_

* * *

"Scully! Scuuu-ully!" a paw pounded at the door three times fast. "Ya lazy varmin', git yer haunches outta bed an' git us some brickfast!" More pounding rattled through the converted mop closet, shook Gordon's hammock, and reverberated into his head.

He had overslept again. Addai, the hedgehog who was now kicking and screaming at the door, was not normally so mean-tempered – the first three mornings, he had laughed it off as a new sailor learning to adjust to sleeping at sea. The fourth, fifth, and sixth mornings, he had gotten progressively louder and more irritated.

Gordon, half-dressed and smelling badly from a week without bathing, got out of bed and opened the door.

"What sorta use's a cabin boy iff he ain' up afore the crew?" The hedgehog yelled as he pulled the young hare out of the door and shoved him towards the kitchen. His quills, beginning to stand on end, revealed his degree of annoyance. "Now git!"

Startled, Gordon ran for the kitchen, looking over his shoulder briefly to hear Addai shout:

"His lordship's awaitin' ya."

* * *

Gordon's first encounter with Atlas had been on the first day, before they left the harbor. As he saw the massive, hulking Badger approaching, wearing armor that must have weighed several times the young hare's body weight, every muscle in his body wilted and turned to mush. His dagger was too small. His stomach shook with anxiety and he couldn't keep his footpaws stable on the floor.

"Addai the Porter, at yer serviss, m'lord." The hedgehog bowed deferentially to Atlas. Addai then looked at Gordon and paused, waiting for his new hire to introduce himself.

Gordon's heart raced. Gordon tried to speak, but he couldn't. His throat was closed in on itself.  
His left footpaw began thumping loudly.

"An' this 'ere's our cabin boy, m'lord, Scully Craws."

Was now the time to strike? He couldn't. They could snap his body in half before he finished removing the dagger from his pocket. Should he bow to this tyrant, this child-murderer? Should he enable this wickedness by submitting to it? He brought to mind one of Brother Sage's proverbs:

 _The smile which deceives  
more than open insult grieves._

Gordon bowed deferentially, mimicking as best as he could his hedgehog supervisor. He gave the biggest, most adorable smile he could. Atlas seemed to appreciate this gesture.

"Good to meet you, little soldier. Carry on."

Since then, he had met Atlas twenty-four times, four times a day for six days: once for breakfast, once for lunch, once for dinner, and once for the midnight snack. The midnight snack was always the most difficult, and he had quickly learned to serve it on lightweight wooden plates that wouldn't shatter.

* * *

Addai's voice still ringing in his ears, Gordon rushed from the kitchen pushing a cart loaded with plates. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, the waves were calm, and the sky was perfectly clear. An old mouse waved as he ran by, and he waved back. His new friend Fildering, a hare four years his senior, shouted a cheerful "Wot ho! Go get 'em, Scully!" as he dashed past. Gordon inhaled the brisk morning breeze and for a moment, in his half-awake state, he wondered if he couldn't get used to becoming a Waverunner.

He stopped by Colonel Frederick's cabin first. The Colonel had wisely suggested he always do this.

Colonel Frederick opened the door widely and invited him in. Gordon placed on his desk a plate of artfully-arranged cabbage hash and steaming acorn squash _beurre blanc_ with a side of toast and fig jelly. Over Colonel Frederick's desk was a copy of a famous portrait that would have been unbearably cheesy to anyone not patriotically inclined, titled _Atlas Bearing the World_. Gordon knew immediately to look for his mother's flowery signature in the corner: _R. T. Hagglethrump_. He didn't let his gaze linger too long.

"Your breakfast, sir."

"Thank you, master Craws. It looks like a stormy morning, I'm afraid."

Gordon shivered noticeably.

"However, I suspect it's all thunder and no lightening. I'll keep my ears open."

Gordon gritted his teeth together and headed to Atlas's cabin.

* * *

Gordon heard the yelling within' Atlas's cabin, but wasn't able to discern the words. It seemed like a continuous stream of shouts without a pause or break. He knocked, waited, knocked again, waived, and began knocking as loudly as he could, continually. At last, Atlas answered, but continued the conversation as though Gordon was not there.

"….why is it that nobeast can keep an eye on their things or think to lock their doors behind them when they go out? This is precisely why Frederick made sure every cabin was outfitted with a lock, so that this exact situation could not happen!"

As usual, Atlas was alone. Gordon quickly placed the plate of braised sea scallops in hollandaise sauce with a twig of rosemary as garnish onto Atlas's desk. He should have tried to sneak out of the room unnoticed, but curiosity stopped him. An old map sat on the desk, and he recognized the outline of the western coast. An large X was marked in the midst of a vast space of intersecting lines, a space labeled 'uncharted'.

"... I will have that squirrel's head, and heart, and tail, if anything erupts because of this! You! Cabin boy."

Gordon froze. "Yes, sir?" He tried now to cower too noticeably. His paws nearly covered his face to protect it.

"You seem observant. I have an assignment for you."

Gordon bowed. "Anything my lord requires I will gladly perform."

"Somebeast has stolen a vial of poison."

Gordon struggled to stay calm and keep his breathing constant. He reached for his dagger, but couldn't find it. He began pawing frantically. Where was the dagger? Had he left it in his other clothes?

"That is terrible, sir. Do you know who did it?"

"I thought you might tell me."

Gordon gulped and all the fur on his head stood on end. He felt the blood leave his face. Was this it? Where was his dagger? He looked around the room for weapons. He remembered Fildering's advice: "Anything's a weapon, old son! It's all in the wrist, by jingo!" This advice was not helpful. He saw within his reach a pillow, an old pair of boots, some navigational paperwork, a small compass...

"You see, little soldier, nobeast suspects you."

Gordon then noticed the large mace, located about one foot from Atlas's boot. The mace would be far too heavy for Gordon to lift, though not for Atlas. He caught sight of Atlas's paw, resting on his gleaming broadsword. Maybe, if he screamed, Frederick would rescue him.

"You are the perfect spy. So, as you deliver breakfast to our crew this morning, you will look through every corner of every cabin for a small vial of hemlock. Observe the hedgehogs in particular. That navigator, Rosequill, gave me a very suspicious look today. Check everywhere. Drawers, desks, beds. I've never known a beast that didn't have something hidden in their bed. If you locate it, you will notify me immediately. Understood?"

Suddenly relieved that he was not a suspect, Gordon breathed and couldn't stop himself from laughing and grinning his reply.

"Aye aye, sir! Absolutely!"

Giddy, Gordon pushed the cart full of plates out of the room. It was several minutes later when he unclenched his left paw and realized he was gripping a compass.

* * *

It was about an hour later when Gordon entered the mess hall to eat with the other hares. The first several days he had avoided their company and had eaten on the floor of the mop closet, alone. He didn't care for their anti-pirate banter and had to focus on his mission.

But, gradually, the loneliness and homesickness became too much.

He sat down next to Fildering, who had saved him a spot. Across from them were Barak and Berek, twins who wore matching blue berets. Gordon had only met them yesterday, but they had graduated from the military academy with Cyril, and he had heard stories of their antics from his brother for years.

"Ahoy mates! It's Scully!"

"Scully, old son! You're alive, by jingo!"

"Oi! We'd been wondrin' if you'd fallen off!"

Gordon smiled and started eating his beet slaw. The twins started up again.

"So, d'you 'ear the one 'bout the pirate an' the mermaid, mates?"

"Oi! Who 'aven't y' told that 'un ten trillion times alreddy . . . 'cept maybe mum?"

Fildering was eager. "Ain't 'eard a word o' it, by jingo! Fling it at me!"

"Right-o, Filds. So, the pirate finds 'imself a pertty mermaid swimmin' aside 'is ship, wot, an' the ol' rat jumps in f'r a swim, wot. Now, she ain't wearin' nothin', being a mermaid an' wot not, an' so the ol' rat figgurs 'e'll join 'er in 'er natural state, wot. But then she takes one look-see at 'em an' says . . . "

Gordon stopped listening, though he heard everyone laugh. He already knew the off-color punch line from Cyril, and Atlas's morning tirade was still on his mind. He changed the subject.

"So, um . . . do any of you guys know how to use a sword?"

"Blimey, mates, if I didn't know 'ow t'use a sword, would I be off soldierin' after pirates?"

"Oi! A soldier wot's all swagger an' no swordsmanship? Wot? Wot d'you take me for, eh?"

Fildering looked slightly embarrassed by the twins' words for a moment, but then regained his composure. "Swords, yes, swords! Yip-yip-a-hurrah and gooseberryapplesauce! A sword? By jingo, just give me one!"

"So guys, um . . . where do you aim the sword if you want to kill somebeast?"

"The 'ead!"

"The 'eart!"

"In the rat's ar —"

"— Yeah, um, right. But I mean . . . what if he's really, I don't know, like, big. Like really huge and he has lots of armor and, uh, he is really upset with you. And he has a huge mace. And he's going to pound you with it. So then, um, how do you use a sword?"

Barak and Berek gave him a funny look.

"Y'just hit 'em, mate. Real hard!"

"Oi! An' stab th' villain in the eye! An' chop off his 'ead!"

Gordon noticed Robert Rosequill walking by. Not wanting the ship's navigator to overhear any of the conversation, he lowered his volume.

"Um, I mean, like… so, how do you chop off his head if he's so tall you can't reach it?"

Fildering patted him on the head. "Just b'twixt you 'n' me, Scully ol' son, y'don't need t'bally worry y'head over slayin' great whackin' vermin wi' a flippin' sword now, wot? Leave that t'us soldiers."

* * *

At dinnertime, Hriston complained to Gordon of joint aches. Hriston, a retired former General of the Long Patrol, was allowed to travel with the Waverunners as a symbolic gesture. Gordon summoned Crue, the ship's healer, to help Hriston. Crue left the infirmary about two hours after sunset. She locked it, and left a junior officer, a hedgehog named Merrius, to stand guard.

"Merrius!"

Merrius turned to see Gordon. "Oh! Ahoy Scully!"

"Hey. There's, um, a group of people, um, over there. You should go, um, look at them. It's cool!"

"Well, I canna leave m' post, now, can I, lad? Not 'till Healer Sarish is back 't any rate."

"Oh, yeah, I guess not. Oh well. It's just, they've found some beast's, um... perfume and... it's like there's a scent for every type of beast there is... Fildering Dillwithers made himself smell like a frog . . . it's pretty hilarious!"

"No! Oh no! They found my annointin' collection – I mean . . . Scully, m'lad, y' wouldn't mind, would ye, watchin' m' post for just a wee smitherin' of a secon'? I've got uh, some private business, and . . ."

"Oh, no problem Merrius! I can keep watch for you."

Merrius dashed off. Gordon had found the perfume set hidden in Merrius's bed while delivering lunch. Atlas knew his crew well. Gordon kept a few vials of the foamy substance, in case they were useful, but placed most of them in the mess hall in a spot where the young hares were sure to find them.

Once Merrius was out of sight, Gordon picked the lock easily – one of Brother Sage's few practical lessons – and entered the infirmary, carefully closing the door behind himself.

The room was dark, and he knew it should stay that way to avoid attracting attention. He could see only the part of the floor ahead of him, but he knew both Crue and Merrius would be occupied for a while. Yesterday he had been in a hurry, careless, clumsy. That was his mistake.

Then, he saw what he was looking for: the bright gleam of metal in the moonlight. His dagger.

He walked closer, and then stopped. He smelled something.

Somebeast was there.

He looked closer.

Somebeast was holding _his_ dagger. Blade's dagger.

Without a further thought, he rushed towards the beast and tackled him. The dagger flew out of his paws and Gordon grabbed it. He held it threateningly towards the stranger.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Who be _ye_?" she demanded back.

 _She_ demanded: a female rat, dressed in black. She was holding a handful of buttons which she must have sawn off of Crue's spare uniforms.

"I'm… um… well…" Gordon nervously chose his words. "Are you, er… a pirate?"

She paused. "Do I be lookin' like a Waverunner ter ye?"

The little grey rat was young, perhaps his own age, too small for her shirt, yet she seemed to have outgrown her jacket. Her ears and nose were pink. She wore a bright blue sash belted over the shirt, so that it almost looked like a tunic. He tried to hide his puffy cheeks, but they only seemed to get puffier the more nervous he got.

"You're a rat. Uh, so… you must be a stowaway."

"Ya'd best be keepin' yer mouth shut about me if'n yer wanna keep breathin." She started to back towards a spot where one of the floorboards had been lifted up to expose a way into the storeroom below. Why hadn't he thought of entering through the floor?

"Of course, I won't rat you out – I mean, um… I won't tell, if you won't tell."

She seemed slightly less aggressive. Gordon held out his paw.

"I'm, er… I'm…. the owner of this blade. I am a friend of freedom. Thanks for finding it."

She ignored his outstretched paw and backed away. "So glad I could help ye out." Her sarcasm got more pronounced.

"We should probably go."

"I be gone already, mate!" She jumped through the hole into the storeroom, pulling the board down with her so that it fit perfectly into place. She was gone.

Gordon dashed out the door, locked it, and returned to his post. He slipped the dagger into his waistband and swore never to lose it again.

His mind was suddenly clear again from the fog it had fallen under for the last seven days. He was not a Waverunner. He was a pirate. He fell asleep that night thinking of his new ally, this little grey rat and her wonderful pink ears. He hoped that, together, they would prepare Atlas's last midnight snack.


	9. Crow's Nest to Rat's Nest

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Crow's Nest to Rat's Nest**

 _by: Plink_

* * *

The little rat wedged the loose plank back into place and scrambled down from the top of the shelf crowded with winter squashes. As soon as her footpaws hit the deck, she ran between the crates of tubers, along the hold corridor, past the open stair case, and then down into the lowest, dankest level. There, racks of barrels crammed the length of the ship like buildings in a city. Plink's city. She glared up the stairs behind her, then crawled into a certain gap behind the rack of casks where the wall of the hull bowed out. There, she crouched in her heap of blankets, her heart thumping in her chest as she listened.

After several long moments of silence, Plink finally sat down and allowed her head to thump back against the wall as she released a long breath.

Drat that scurvy squirrel healer and her fancy new buttons. If Plink hadn't been so busy trying to saw through the reinforced thread holding those buttons on, she never would have missed the sound of the door opening behind her. And she certainly wouldn't have hesitated to stick that cabin boy right in his fluffy gut with his precious dagger, either. If it meant so much to him, he shouldn't have been keeping it under that cabinet where Plink would see it when she climbed up through the floor.

Friend of freedom, her foot.

Plink wrenched one of the twin surgical knives from where she'd jabbed it into the wood of the hull and waggled it so that it caught the faint light and glimmered like a gem. It was so… clean. Everything she snitched from the infirmary was, but the knives especially. If she held one over her snout, she could see her own dark eyes peering back at her.

Plink sighed and began idly gouging chips from the thick bottom of one of the casks. The surgical knives bit much deeper than her own worn-out dagger, too. She scratched the finishing touches into the primitive rat-figure she'd been working on for days now. Eight days. The length of the voyage as best she could tell.

Sailing was so boring. This plan had seemed like an impressive adventure when she was in her lair under the docks. Sneak onto the mad badgerlord's ship and, when the fighting started, join the pirates from right under his snout. It had been easy, too - the sneaking. Plink had almost started to believe she was just too good to be caught.

She blew some curls of wood off her carving. It was blocky and asymmetrical, but the figure gripped what might have been a cutlass and had a fierce, wild look about it. Yes, a fitting effigy of the pirate she would become, Plink the Ferocious! No, Plink… the Merciless.

Only, a truly great pirate needed a worthy adversary. Plink dug the blade into undisturbed wood.

The reality aboard this ship was a big disappointment. For the first few days, Plink had aimed only to avoid discovery. The hold contained more food than a little rat could ever possibly eat, and really it was the only place she needed to go…

But finally Plink couldn't take the tedium anymore. She sneaked all over the ship under cover of darkness, creeping into beasts's cabins and plucking away small objects that caught her eye. She'd reveled in the ease with which these unsuspecting goodbeasts could be relieved of their possessions. She could even listen through the floor, stifling her snickers, as they griped and cursed and searched. It was even better than market day.

Here behind the casks, she had amassed a respectable hoard of treasures, the best of which she kept lined up on the narrow ledge that ran along the hull wall. Three stacks of gleaming buttons and two wooden pieces to a game she didn't know. A polished stone pestle that glittered with minerals and smelt of herbs. And, in the middle because it was her favorite, a gold pocket watch that ticked softly in the dark, a light counterpoint to the ship's groans. Plink kept the watch centered on an embroidered handkerchief that she had folded into a little square and pressed between her paws until the creases were tight and neat.

She finished carving and sat back to admire her handiwork. The new shape was even cruder than the first, but if she squinted just right, the two together looked like a rat and a hare about to cross swords. One of them would slit the other open any second.

* * *

The next night, Plink finished eating all the walnut and oatmeal cookies out of a poorly-hidden jar in the kitchen and had just decided to go switch some soldiers' uniforms when there was a sound from above. Plink scrambled to hide among the bundles of netting stored under the open staircase before a squirrel and a mouse came marching down.

"…wouldn't call it ideal," the mouse was murmuring, "but I really don't think the colonel would intentionally put only non-hares on night rounds. It was probably just a coincidence."

"Oh come on, Marcus." The squirrel stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned around to look back at his comrade. Plink held perfectly still in the shadows, her ears flat to her head even as she listened. "Ever since the healer reported stolen poison, everybeast on this ship has been walking on eggshells 'cause Lord Atlas is two filberts shy of a nut farm."

"Exactly. Swiftpaw has more on his mind than making sure everyone takes a turn missing sleep. He'll even the assignments out soon. Just wait."

"Hmph." The squirrel carried on down the corridor, his voice diminishing. "More like nobody dares complain about obvious favoritism when there's a deranged badger at the helm…"

Plink waited until she was sure they were gone, then relaxed and sat upright. Stolen poison? Plink hadn't stolen any poison. She'd figured the increase in patrollers had to do with that pocket watch belonging to some influential beast with a grudge. Poison was a whole other matter. If they caught her and thought she was plotting to poison somebeast, the consequences would be severe. Because who was going to believe her if she said she hadn't done it?

A chill raced up Plink's spine. She rose and glanced down the corridor after the sentries, listening hard. It had been easy enough to escape from marshals back in Hearth, but she was trapped on this ship. There were so many dead ends, so many corners to be backed into.

But these Waverunners would never catch Plink. She shook her head until her neck fur fluffed out and then she breezed down the stairs. That cabin boy had gotten lucky was all, sneaking up on her while she was sawing away with that dagger…

Plink pulled up short. That dagger he'd left in the infirmary while doing some secret business…

A faint noise of outrage escaped her. It was him! The cabin boy was the poisoner! That devious greasy-headed puffy-cheeked goody-goody was going to pin this on her!

Plink gritted her teeth and hurried on toward the soldier quarters. When she found him, she'd show him how a real pirate committed murders.

She searched for the better part of an hour, creeping through the chorus of snores and then climbing up to peek around the main deck. Sentries were on the hunt all over, though, and Plink finally decided it was too risky to keep looking. She snuck all the way back down to the hold, only to freeze at the bottom of the stairs.

To her left, there was a hare poking around between the barrels in the pickled vegetable room. His back was to her, his long ears pricked forward toward whatever he was examining. Or eating. Probably eating. Hares were always coming down for snacks. Plink made to sneak past, but the hare's whisper stopped her.

"So, um… if you're in here, would you… just answer me already?"

"You!" Even though she spoke barely above a hiss, the cabin boy jumped and spun toward her. Plink stalked over to stand in the doorway and glowered. "What're you doin' here?"

"I, er, I was looking for you," he said, rubbing the fur on his cheek flat before dropping his paw to his side and lifting his chin. "I wanted to, um, warn you… about the Waverunners. I mean, they know. About you, that is. They've increased the night watch, and-"

"Aye, and I've got your sorry tail to thank fer that." Plink crossed her arms and looked down her snout at him. "All 'cause you're a coward who needs poison to kill his enemies."

The cabin boy took a step back, then balled up his fists and glared at her. "I'm not a coward, you ingrate!"

"I ain't anin- …one o' those!"

"You are," he hissed, glancing up the stairs beyond her before going on. "I snuck down here tonight to warn you that Swiftpaw's planning to order the stores unloaded and searched tomorrow."

A cold stone dropped into Plink's gut, but she only rolled her eyes. "That's nothin'. I ain't scared o' yer Wavebumbler chums an' I don't need yer help."

"I just thought…" The cabin boy looked almost hurt, then he frowned and made to leave. "Forget it. This was a mistake."

Plink didn't step out of the way. She just glared as he squeezed around her. If he meant to pin his crime on her, why would he warn her about the search? It was all very confusing, and Plink didn't like it that he was trying to leave when she wasn't finished with him yet. When he reached the stairs, she turned to face him. "Ya've got a good knife. Why bother with poison when a knife'll do a beast in quick an' clean? Can't you fight?"

"I can fight just fine," he said as he turned back to scowl at her. Then he looked away. "My dagger's just… too small for this. I don't think it can cut deep enough…" He seemed to think better of it and narrowed his eyes at her. "What's it to you, anyway?"

Plink sniffed and shrugged, stepping slowly up to his stair, then the next one up. "I'm a pirate, mate. Pirates have a code when it comes to guttin' them as got it comin'."

"I know that," he bit out, watching her with something between irritation and interest. "How would you kill a beast too big to be killed with a dagger?"

"Ain't no such beast. But ya hafta know just where to stick 'em." Plink, who had never killed anybeast and knew very little about anatomy, drew her claw across her throat and grinned.

The cabin boy looked like he was about to argue, but then just glanced up toward the corridor above. "I should go." He hesitated, then stuck out his paw toward her. "My name's Scully Craws."

Plink stared at his paw for a stunned beat. Then she grabbed it and gave it a firm shake like she'd seen beasts do. "Plink… er, the Terrible. Daughter o' Captain Scarcrab the Fearsome."

Scully's eyes widened and he clutched her paw a little harder before letting go. "Wait, your father is a pirate? Whoa. Is that why you're here? Are you going to meet him? Could I meet him?"

"Alas! Me Da was struck down by that scalawag-stripedog Atlas an' 'is crew o' freedom-hatin' hares. Er- no offense to you. I guess."

"I'm sorry."

Plink scratched the back of her neck, then tried to inject some authority into her voice. "You'd best get out o' here. Don't wanna be caught sneakin' around at night."

Scully nodded and climbed the stairs, only to pause at the top and look back. "Be careful, Plink."

Plink hesitated, then grinned hard and winked. "Pirates ain't careful, mate. The world be careful o' us."

She waited until she was sure he was gone, then climbed back up to the ship proper. If she was going to avoid being discovered when they searched the hold, she had preparations to make.

* * *

It took the crew of the Zephyr the better part of the morning to check and unload all the casks, crates, and sacks from the hold. Stacks of supplies crowded the deck and cabins and narrowed the corridors so that beasts were forced to side-step past each other coming and going. In the end, with the last barrels hauled from their racks and rolled across the near-empty ballast stores, there was nothing to find.

After much sniffing at the rank dandelion wine spills in a certain corner below and a loud demand to know who'd been filching libations, Lieutenant Killian Wrightbones called off the search. He ordered everything put to rights and marched off to make his report to the colonel.

A tall mouse in a too-snug uniform and with a blue kerchief wrapped about her head hauled sacks of milled oats over her shoulder just like anybeast else in the crowd. Plink had been fighting the urge to chew the inside of her lip all morning. It was a lucky thing the physical labor gave her an excuse for the sweat damping her cheek and neck fur. Otherwise, her nerves may have given her away.

This was not like her mousewife disguise. Though there were over a hundred beasts aboard, very few of them were mice. Despite the thorough scrub she'd inflicted on herself last night, Plink still suspected she stunk more like rat than soap and had felt more than a few speculative glances on her as she worked. Any moment, somebeast would catch a whiff of her and realize she wasn't really part of the crew.

"Will ye lookit that!"

Plink flinched, then slowly turned toward the voice, only to find one of the otters on the heavy-lift team thumping a claw on the top of a barrel. He had a big dumb grin spreading his whiskers.

"Some liddle beastie carved a hare an' a warrior mouse inter this 'ere cask! Iddin' that just adorable as can be?"

With a surly twist of her mouth, Plink left the other beasts to ogle her carving - which was obviously a rat fighting a hare - and marched out of the hold. She surreptitiously dodged around the shrew overseeing the counting of provisions and climbed up another level, darting into the small pantry off the galley.

Lunch was nearing ready, and the scent of leek and onion chowder clung in Plink's nostrils, teasing a desperate gurgle from her belly. For a moment, she entertained the notion of sneaking into line and having a bowl. It had been weeks since her last hot meal… But Plink had to be careful. Testing her disguise in the chaos down in the hold had been risky enough. She snatched up an apple from a half-empty crate, tucked herself behind a barrel of pickled fish, and settled in to wait.

Beasts came and went from the pantry, but it wasn't until one dropped what sounded like an armful of apples and cursed quietly that Plink became interested. She peeked out from around the barrel only to find the cabin boy there, gathering apples off the floor. He looked like he would rather be throwing them.

For a moment, Plink hesitated. She could stay silent and keep her head down, and the hare would just go away. That would be the smart thing to do, the safe thing. But the words were already bubbling out of her mouth.

"Ya got butterfingers, Scully Craws?"

Scully dropped the apples all over again and gaped at her. "Plink?" He glanced back through the door and came closer, whispering. "What are you doing in here? Somebeast could see you."

"If they do, I'm just a sailor mouse stealin' a nap." She tugged the tidy lapel of her stolen uniform, then nodded toward the apples. "What's all this?"

"Ugh. Fruit for Stormstripe's cabin." He curled his lip as he said it, then glanced again at the door. "I have to go, but I'd like to talk to you more. Will you be in the hold later?"

Plink's face heated under her fur for some reason she couldn't put a claw on. "Er, aye! The ballast stores."

"Right, then. See you later!" With a smile and a nod, Scully gathered up the apples and hustled from the room.

Plink waited until the lunch bell rang before making her way back to the hold. She dug through the sack of oats with the blue X stitched in one corner until she found her own long jacket, bundled around the best of her treasures. The casks were all out of order below so that her carving was on the outside now. As she replaced her uniform jacket with her usual clothes, Plink paused to examine her work by the dim light from above.

She may have gotten the proportions a little off, but she didn't see how anybeast would mistake her rat for a mouse. It had such tiny ears and big paws, and any second it was going to lunge at that hare and stick him right through the wavering lines of his belly. That or the hare would bring his saber down.

Or maybe they were just talking. Maybe they weren't enemies, exactly. Not really.

Plink scratched at her cheek and crawled into the space between the casks and the wall. She lined up her treasures on the ledge, curled up on the wood using her uniform as a pillow and, though it wasn't as comfortable as the blankets she had shoved out a porthole before dawn, she fell asleep almost at once.

Only a few hours had passed when Plink woke to the sound of somebeast coming quietly down the stairs. She sat up and peeked bleary-eyed between the barrels. At the sight of the cabin boy, she wriggled out of her hiding place and nearly called his name.

Except, when Plink looked again, he wasn't alone. The second hare was taller and leaner, and his posture had a whippy straightness to it that bespoke a very different temperament. He and Scully exchanged a few quiet words and then the soldier began poking about, peering between rows. Scully trailed after him, dabbing at his cheeks and speaking in a higher, louder voice.

"…checked the pantry yet? How about the galley?"

Plink stared in growing horror. The soldier was making his way unerringly toward her. "Somethin's not right down here," he was saying. "Smells… strange…"

It had been a mistake to come back to this spot. How many times had Ma moved them from one town to another because somebeast figured out where they lived? Plink had known this…

But it was too late to be careful now. Plink had to be brave.

Paw shaking, she pulled the old knife from her sash and held it ready, close to her chest. Any second, the hare would lean over to look around the barrels. Plink braced herself to spring. She would have only one chance and, if she was going to live, she had to strike true.


	10. Yo Ho, Haul Together

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Yo Ho, Haul Together**

 _By: Captain Ciera Ancora_

* * *

 _Claws clicked idly against the deck rail. "Do you know the best way to kill a shark, Ancora?"_

"I'm not sure, Captain," Ciera answered deferentially.

That smile. The teasing one, specially reserved for filling pauses while Blade savored the sweet taste of hidden knowledge. "Simple answer is, 'You don't.'"

She frowned. "You don't?"

"Aye. A shark's too big, too powerful t'be taken down by the likes of you or me. The secret is, ye wound 'im, deep enough ta draw blood. Then once his mates have caught the scent, they'll finish him off straightaway, quick as you like. O'course, it doesn't end there. In all the gnashin' and thrashin', another shark'll get bloodied, and then they'll turn on 'im, too, and then he'll lash out and bite another 'un, and they'll be fightin' their own brethren just to survive, while you're legging it away o'er the main."

The ferretmaid gave a respectful nod, to serve as a receipt affirming the transfer of knowledge. It was important to show that she was listening. That she could

learn. _It was what made her special._

"As you were, Ancora."

Ciera splayed her paws out onto the map spread across her desk, frowning pensively. She'd long since forgotten where the conversation had taken place, or when, or why. Memories had a funny way of degrading. At first they were like vivid dreams, but all too soon they'd wear out like a fine garment left to the elements, becoming isolated words and images, scraps of experience loosely stitched together with threads of context.

The lesson, however, never lost its clarity. _No point killing your enemies yourself, not if you can convince them to kill one another._ Like most of Blade's maxims, it was straightforward, sensible. Clever, yet so simple that it seemed anybeast could've come up with it, if they'd only thought about it.

And perhaps... perhaps some other beast had.

During the worst of the persecution, the rumor mill churned out nothing but tales of death and destruction, the death toll climbing higher with every passing day. But then, one day the latest casualty reports were ignored in favor of a juicy new rumor. Gold. Mountains of it, just begging to be hauled away. The rumor crossed the sea in the blink of an eye. And it drew the shattered remnants of Blade's empire like moths to a flame, set them at one another's throats. It all seemed awfully... convenient.

Atlas Stormstripe, curse his hide, wanted to end piracy once and for all. How better to do it than to spread rumors of a fantastic hoard, and let greed do the rest? The pirates would converge on the spot, and they'd do anything to get their paws on that treasure. No point killing your enemies yourself, not if you can convince them to kill one another...

There was a polite knock at the door.

"Come in."

"Brought the prisoner as y'requested."

"Thank you, Daggle. That will be all."

Daggle opened his mouth to speak.

"That will be all," Ciera repeated, flicking her snout towards the door. Daggle wisely took the opportunity to leave.

Once the door had clicked shut and the sound of pawsteps had diminished satisfactorily, Ciera turned her attention to Tooley. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Mister Bostay?"

The weasel thought for a brief moment. "Well... the brig's leakin' again. Y'should prolly 'ave somebeast take a look at it."

Ciera strained to keep her facial expression straight.

"I meant about the poisoning of First Mate Ginson, Mister Bostay."

Tooley fiddled nervously with the brim of his hat. "Don't know anythin' about that, Cap'n, I swear it..."

"Speaking of the brig... Were you visited by anybeast?"

"No, Cap'n."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Cap'n."

Ciera was moderately disappointed. She'd suspected that the poisoning was a joint venture, and had hoped that the accomplice - or accomplices - might pay Tooley a visit.

"You were well fed?"

Tooley nodded, but she'd only asked the question as a formality. Ciera had personally ensured that Tooley was served the same food as everybeast else was having, just in case.

"Thank you, that's very helpful. You're free to go, Mister Bostay."

Relief briefly flooded the weasel's homely features, then was quickly absorbed by the underlying layer of suspicion. Innocence was foreign territory to a perennial blame sponge like Tooley, and Helpfulness was off the map all together. "Er… really, Cap'n?"

"Really."

The hat brim twisted in his paws. "I'm not, err, in trouble, then? Only cause y'didn't ask about the poisonin', not really. I didn't do it, I swear I didn't!"

"I already know everything I need to know, Mister Tooley."

The brim relaxed. "So I'm... really not in any trouble, then? Err... Really?"

"Not at the moment. But if you hang around much longer, you'll be in dereliction of duty."

Tooley blinked. "Der-re…"

"Go get back to work, Mister Bostay."

"Oh! Er, right!" Tooley scrambled upright.

"Oh, and Mister Bostay, send Mister Izhets and Miss Silvertooth along. I need to speak with them."

"Aye, Cap'n!"

Tooley scuttled off. Ciera shook her head at the door he'd forgotten to close. How anybeast could honestly suspect a lump like Tooley of poisoning Ginson was beyond her. The fellow wasn't particularly stupid, he just had an uncanny knack for doing things stupidly. If Tooley set out to poison Ginson he'd probably have tried throwing the poison bottle at him.

Truth be told, that's what she valued in beasts like Tooley. Pirates saw logic as just another set of rules, and rules were, by definition, things that only happened to other folks. Through their constant misunderstandings and ineptitude, the Tooleys of the world provided a refreshing counterpoint to Ciera's own way of looking at things. They made her reconsider notions and ideas whose obviousness made them seem… well, obvious. It kept her sharp.

Blade had taught her that. _Looking for faults in yer crew is like looking for sand on a beach. You don't have to look hard to find a lot. But if'n you dig through that sand for long enough, you'll eventually find the glimmer of somethin' valuable. And once you've found that glimmer, well, you can polish it 'til it outshines the sun._

Blade had always had a way with words. Somehow, he always knew just what to say, which words would make the little levers in a beast's head go "click" and open up the shutters of the mind to let his ideas come streaming in.

Granted, Blade's philosophies tended to flag a bit in the implementation phase. Even the best of pirates had to be unearthed from a thick layer of metaphorical sand; some beasts, like Tooley, had to be dredged up from deserts. Finding his glimmer had taken enough digging to exhaust a team of moles. It took an awful lot of polish to put a shine on incompetence. Still, the fellow had his uses. To his credit, he played the role of unwitting bait very well.

Besides, intelligence wasn't all it was cracked up to be. In a pinch, Ciera preferred sensibility. Sensibility was, at its heart, about inaction. When the opportunity for stupid behavior came along, all one had to do was _not do it._ It was very easy to not do stupid things, and took less effort than to do them, so it constantly befuddled Ciera that others seemed to encounter tremendous difficulty with the concept. Intelligence, on the other paw, demanded action. For instance, an intelligent first mate would realize that once the _Silver Maiden_ got within a stone's throw of its destination, the only obstacle between him and complete ownership an incalculable hoard of wealth was the inconvenient existence of his Captain; there would only be one sensible course of action. Intelligence demanded it.

Another problem with intelligence – it wasn't nearly as rare a commodity as it purported to be. Captains could possess just as much of it as first mates, if not more. Such a Captain might, say, set a direct course, clap the first mate on the back and proclaim nothing but smooth sailing for _The Silver Maiden_ from there on in, and then secretly switch bowls at dinner that night.

Unfortunately, imprisoning Tooley hadn't had the desired effect. True, locking up the most obvious suspect all but guaranteed that most of the crew would interpret Ginson's death as an open-and-shut case of vengeful murder - which meant that if Ginson had accomplices, they'd be inclined to think they'd gotten away with it; perhaps they'd even feel safe enough to take a chance on eliminating the loose end that Tooley presented. But, no such luck. Nobeast had so much as visited the brig, which meant that either Ginson was working alone, or his accomplices were smart enough to play it safe.

She drummed her claws on the desk. Ginson's attempt at assassination was... unsettling. Not because he'd wanted her dead, mind - there were several hundred Waverunners on the high seas who wanted the same thing, and Ginson merely brought that number up to several-hundred-and-one. No, what bothered her was that it signified a loss of authority. Somebeast had got it in their heads that they could stand up to Ciera Ancora, and they had nurtured that idea and let it grow and fester. They'd lavished their attentions on it and cultivated it until it achieved plausibility. Such ideas were like weeds, if they weren't killed quickly, they weren't killed at all. The Fates alone knew when and where it might crop up again.

The fact that Ginson even made the move was symptomatic of the _Silver Maiden_ 's current plight. They were like a sinking ship desperate to reach the shore, tossing off anything that might drag them under. The crew had jettisoned a lot of things to get to this point: standards, loyalties, codes of conduct... useful things, things that seemed essential once upon a time. Now they were all so much jetsam in the _Maiden_ 's wake, bobbing along with the bodies of the beasts they'd once been.

And, yet, despite everything they'd lost, the ship was still going under. Now it wasn't just the useful things that'd go over the side. No, this was when the vital bits started to go. This was when a crew would look at the great iron anchor hanging off the port bow, and they wouldn't see the bastion of safety and security that moored the ship, held it fast, kept it from drifting off course; they'd only see a weight. And then they'd cut it loose, and send it into the crushing depths with hardly a second thought.

The foundations of her command were crumbling to dust, little by little, and it seemed the harder she tightened her grasp, the faster it poured through her claws. She only hoped she could hold on long enough to see this whole mess through.


	11. Closer to the Edge

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Closer to the Edge**

 _By: Tooley Bostay_

* * *

Tooley left the cabin with a smile.

The rain which just moments earlier had been showering upon the deck had receded into a light drizzle, and Tooley's footpaws splashed water as he trotted down the stairway leading from the cabin. Spying a small puddle on the deck, the weasel hopped onto it with almost childish glee. He spared a glance at himself and chuckled. He was soaked, fur and fabric alike, but today had been a good one. Even the gray smog currently enveloping the _Maiden_ seemed especially bright.

Tooley took a confident step forward onto the deck when a paw gripped his shoulder. He was turned forcefully and shoved back and around to the side of the stairs.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Tooley protested, straining to get a glimpse of the beast.

"Shut up!" came a throaty whisper.

The two of them turned sharply, and Tooley was shoved out of the rain and into a hollowed-out section beneath the stairway. It was a shadowed place, largely kept secret from prying eyes-one of the few places aboard the _Silver Maiden_ where private conversations actually managed to be somewhat private.

Tooley rubbed at his shoulder tenderly, then turned to see Daggle stepping in behind him. "Daggle? What's all this fer, mate?"

"Call it bein' safe," Daggle said, gripping one of the stairway planks and standing up on his tippaws to squint over it.

Tooley scratched the back of his neck, glancing through a slit at the empty deck. "I'm, er, pretty sure no one's up 'ere but us. It's still stormin' a bit," he noted with a helpful smile. Then, after a thought, he frowned. "So... err... why're _ye_ 'ere?"

Daggle stepped back from the stairs, slapping his paws clean of water. "Ne'er mind you that. What'd she say?"

"The Cap'n?"

Daggle rolled his eyes, an almost comical gesture with his crooked eye. "O' _course_ the captain. Yer tail ain't bein' hauled off the plank, so she musta said _somethin'_."

"Oh, er..." Tooley scratched at his head. "She said that I was free ter go, and t' get the cook an' th' cat."

"The new beasts?" Daggle looked down for a moment, scratching at the scruff of his chin. "She didn't say nothin' bad to ye?"

Tooley squinted as he thought back. "Well, she said I would be in der... dero... derrylishon o' my duty if'n I didn' get back ter work."

Daggle began to pace, paws gesturing in front of him as he muttered under his breath things that Tooley couldn't make out.

Tooley looked at the rat worriedly. "Somethin' wrong, mate?"

Daggle waved a paw at Tooley. "Let me think."

He continued to pace for several more seconds before raking his claws through his wiry headfur and coming to a stop. He stared at Tooley, then heaved a sigh.

"Tools," the rat began, "we're mates, right? You an' me. Pirates under th' same cloth, right?"

Tooley's brow furrowed, and his shoulders tensed up. This sounded like a serious question. Serious questions never ended well.

"Y-yeah," Tooley said, "'course we are. Apples of a pear, right? Or... was it feathers in a paw?"

"Err, somethin' like that. Look, I been, uh... thinkin'. 'Bout all o' this. And, uh..." Daggle stopped and seemed to search for the right words, then, as if remembering something, he slid a paw into his coat.

"Here, I been meanin' to show ye this," he said, withdrawing a tawny, weathered sack that jingled in his grip. He untied a knot of twine around it and held the bag open for Tooley to see.

It was full of coins. Coins of every shape, color, and size. Tooley reached a paw in and plucked up a grey one, twisting it. Even in the shadows, it managed to glitter.

"Where'd y'get all o' this?" Tooley asked, wide-eyed.

"I, uh, been savin'. Fer a long time. Since before I even met ye, actually. Y'just got to keep a... weather eye out, y'know?"

Tooley regarded the rat skeptically. "Ye ain't been stealin' none o' this, 'ave ye? Cap'n wouldn't like-"

"Tscha!" Daggle threw up his paws and spun on his heel. "It's allers 'Cap'n' this and 'Cap'n' that with ye! Don't ye give any heed t'yerself? She's the whole problem 'ere! We're chasin' after ghost ships an' dream islands, with nuthin' to show but rougher paws and hurtin' backs!"

Tooley took a tense step back, watching the rat cautiously.

"Ye know how many o' me mates I seen dead and bleedin' 'cause o' them Waverunner scum? Piracy's dyin', mate, and Captain Ciera's at the helm, draggin' us down like a bleedin' anchor."

He trotted forward and swiped the coin from Tooley's paw. He held it up, and through grit teeth growled, "I ain't gonna be 'round when her luck runs out. Y'hear me? Won't be no Waverunner that takes me life!"

Tooley was silent as Daggle threw the coin back into the sack, swiftly tied it, and shoved it deep into his coat. The rat turned briskly around and headed for the exit. He gripped the edge of the stairway and paused. After a moment, his shoulders heaved with a sigh.

"Mate," he said, looking back at Tooley, "whatever y'do, jus'... be careful, all right? These ain't yer friends. Don't ye trust no one, y'hear?" His gaze lowered, and he added, "Not even me."

Puzzled, Tooley watched as Daggle stepped out into the rain and headed for the hatch on the far end of the deck. The weasel's brow furrowed, and he reached up and pulled his cap off his ear. He ran a paw over the many patches. Patches that covered countless memories long forgotten. His claw caught in one of the holes he had gnawed just days before while in the brig. Those days were still fresh in his mind.

After several seconds, he fixed the cap back upon his head and stepped out from beneath the stairway.

The captain had given him a job to do, after all.

* * *

Tooley had quickly found Vera in the kitchen, and, after informing her of the captain's summons, left just as quickly. There was a beast from the last ship he had served on that Vera reminded him of. Pivel was his name. Nice, always with a smile ready, but never too far from a blade of some sort. They were both foxes, too - crafty beasts to be avoided, Tooley'd been told, and he was inclined to agree.

Below deck, Tooley held a paw against the wall of the barracks as he walked, steadying himself. The waves had calmed after the rain stopped, but he needed the support for another reason.

He'd tried shaking off Daggle's words, but they seemed to stick in his head better than most other words did. The coins Daggle had hidden, his seeming hostility to the captain, and talk of leaving... Tooley needed a place to think. And it needed to be a good place, too. He had never been very good at thinking.

Something bumped into his snout, and Tooley stumbled back, a paw going to his nostril.

"'Ey! Watch where yer goin'!" a rat corsair with yellow-teeth and ale-drenched breath shouted.

"Sorry," Tooley mumbled nasally, hurrying around the rat.

The commotion had drawn the attention of several other pirates, who offered an assortment of ugly looks, sneers, and more than a couple of crude gestures. Some of the corsairs appeared eager to do more than that. Ginson had been tougher than a barnacle and would just as easily have cut any beast that approached him, sure, but he was responsible for much of the crew currently on-board the Maiden, and their loyalties had obviously not died with him.

Furthermore, it was obvious that the captain hadn't shared her opinions with the crewbeasts yet.

Tooley paused for a moment. Had she forgotten, or did she mean to keep it a secret? He shook his head. No, it couldn't be. She'd been busy. They all had been. She'd get around to it, soon enough, for sure.

Spying the door to the cargo hold in front of him, Tooley hopped forward, eager to be done with his assignment. He stopped several feet in front of it, staring at a very drunk and very unconscious ferret sprawled against the door frame.

Gingerly reaching over the beast, he rapped his knuckles against the heavy oak door and called out, "Mister Vasiry! Got a messerg fer ye!"

Tooley stood back and waited, sucking at the roof of his mouth where a tooth jutted out awkwardly over his lip. He hadn't spent much time talking to the new quartermaster. All he knew was that he had been originally been aboard another ship before joining the _Maiden._ Maybe the quartermaster had more in common with him and Daggle than he had first thought.

He could hear footsteps approaching, and with a heavy click, the door swung open. A gray, striped wildcat stood in the doorframe. A wide-brimmed, blue hat that drooped at the sides rested atop his head, with a pair of green eyes and a wide smile underneath. The smile faltered as he noticed the slumped ferret against the doorframe.

Vasily tapped a foot against the ferret, who crumpled on the floor beside Tooley. "Heh heh, sorry about that. Some of the crew got a bit carried away with the party last night. What can I do for you, uhh... Tawney, right?"

Tooley scratched at his neck, staring briefly at the ferret's lolled-open mouth. "Err, Tooley, ac'shully. The Cap'n wants t' see yer up in 'er cabin. Says she needs t'speak wit' ye."

For a fleeting moment, the smile was gone from Vasily's face, then returned all the stronger with a chuckle. "Oh ho, does she? Well, good! I was just on my way up, as a matter of fact! I'll see what the lady wants, hmm?"

Vasily moved to step over the unconscious ferret, and Tooley backed out of his way. A thought passed through his mind as the cat walked by, and his mouth was moving before he could think to stop.

"Mister Vasiry?"

The cat stopped and turned around, looking at Tooley expectantly.

"Err..." Tooley scratched his forearm, his sight trailing down as if to find the words on the floor. The crumpled ferret did nothing to help in his search, so he looked back up. "What... what d'ye think about this? Err, all o' this, I mean."

Vasily blinked at him, a confused, albeit polite, look on his face.

"Oh, let me try this agin'..." Tooley rubbed a claw against his chin in thought before he continued, "D'ye think there's treasure out there? That th' Cap'n ac'shully knows where we're goin'?"

Vasily regarded Tooley carefully, and spoke slowly as if he was thinking through every single word. "I... think the captain is quite capable. That's why she's done such a good job so far. Wouldn't really be called _treasure_ if it was easy to find, so who knows?"

"But... if'n there's not... An' what then? What if yer fam'ly don't need ye anymore? What if ye ain't got a 'ome t' go back to no more?"

Vasily stared off into the distance for a moment before refocusing on Tooley. "That's a good question, mate. I guess the only thing you can do in that situation is just grab on to something, anything, and never let it go..." He paused, and cleared his throat. "Not that I'd know anything about that, of course."

Before Tooley could respond, Vasily straightened his hat and spun on his heel.

"I better not keep the captain waiting. After all, idle bodies make for... um, well, nothing good."

The wildcat hurried off, pushing past several pirates as he made his way to the hatch stairway. Tooley sighed and leaned against the door to the hold before reaching up and feeling along the rim of his cap, and the seven recently gnawed holes that were there. It was probably time to forget these.

He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a bundle of fabric scraps, all different colors and shapes that were tied around a spool of thread. He loosed a needle stuck into the wad of cloth, then went to pull his cap off.

As his paw slid up his head, Tooley froze. He ran his palm against his unkempt fur, feeling at the slight depression in his head as he brushed the curled stump of his right ear. It'd always been like that, for as long as he could remember. Not that he ever remembered much - that had also always been true.

Daggle said it was a lucky charm. Others said it was a "difermiddy." Neither sat quite right with Tooley, but as he tenderly scratched a claw against his ear, he realized just how very little he actually knew.

Hat in paw, Tooley sat on the ground and went to work, threading the needle and pulling one of the fabric squares free. He wasn't sure how long he worked - sewing was a delicate business - but finally he put the materials away and set his cap back on his head.

His paws went up to adjust it, lopsided over his ear stump as usual. As soon as he was satisfied, he ran a claw along the edge to feel the new patch, and the single hole that remained just outside of it.

Maybe it was time he start remembering some things.


	12. Shapes in the Fog

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Shapes in the Fog**

 _by: Fildering Dillwithers_

* * *

Adventure is a peculiar experience. It grips the heart of a young creature, galvanizing actions normally confined to fleeting dreams into something more. Something greater. Something all at once exciting, bewildering . . . and, at times, something truly terrifying.

Fildering Eustatius Crummeloe Brackenwold Dillwithers swore he felt all three as he stood on the deck of what had once been nothing more than a dream to him, and thought of nothing more than how truly lucky he was to be here. Here, aboard the greatest ship ever to fly the flag of Lord Stormstripe's Waverunners. His heart fluttered as he thought about it. Beneath his footpaws, the mighty _Zephyr_ tacked west-by-south, silver-white shrouds bellying out to their full extent under a sunrise painted in gold, auburn, and pastel blue. Indomitable!

Thoughts of marching on the drill ground five days before, dusty and exhausted, were for the most part forgotten as the ship, with him onboard its sturdy oaken decks, ventured forth over the Western Ocean. The vast, welcoming horizon spread out before him, stretching into the great beyond. What adventure! What thrill!

He smiled. Already, he was making new acquaintances, including a young hare who went by the name "Scully". He'd met the fellow a few days ago; although timid to socialize with the hard, outgoing soldiers at first, Scully had struck him as a promising creature. The young one just needed a little push.

 _Good egg, that Scully. Shows spirit, for bloomin' once. Can't be said for a lot o' chaps onboard. Still . . ._

Something just hadn't seemed right about Scully, though. He wasn't his usual self, and Fildering couldn't help but notice that the younger hare's mind seemed elsewhere.

The north wind was pleasant this morning, and as it ruffled his fur, Fildering's thoughts drifted away from Scully to Crue Sarish, whose chamber he now guarded, and then to the exchange he'd overheard between that same ship's healer and the hedgehog, Robert Rosequill. An exchange about a thief.

Everybeast was talking about it. Ever since Crue had voiced her concerns to Colonel Swiftpaw, who in turn had voiced the same concerns to the crew, there had been talk and rumor from stem to stern as to who the culprit might be.

Some said it was a kleptomaniac woodlander, perhaps one of the many obvious gluttons aboard. _More than likely_.

Some said it was a stowaway, perhaps a small weasel or rat that could slip about, moving undetected. _Unlikely, but possible_.

More delusional beasts said it was a ghost of some vermin from Atlas's past who, having a bone to pick with the _Zephyr_ 's crew and master, had come to curse the ship in some horrible and rather inventive ways. Fildering chuckled at that one. _Ridiculous_.

Whatever the truth, one thing was certain to the young corporal: thievery was rampant on deck.

Thievery. And what better creature to find the source of this thievery than Fildering himself?

 _Who, indeed? This's your chance t' speak to the great Atlas Stormstripe, wot! If anything's to get His Nubs's attention, it'll be the chance to put an end to all this thievin' nonsense! An' if there's anybeast to do th' job, it's Filderin' E. C. B. Dillwithers, Honorary Lance Corp'ral o' th' Galbraith Guard, by jove! Up an' at 'em, bucko!_

Now . . . meeting Lord Atlas. The idea had clawed at his indecisive brain for days now. _Well, y' can't keep puttin' it off like this, ol' boy. It's now or flippin' never!_

He flinched, indecisive.  
 _Come on, stiff upper lip, ol' boy! No use lollygaggin' around all season . . . march!_ He felt a slight tingle run up his spine. _May as well . . . nothing else to do on this ship but sit 'round watching th' blinkin' horizon_. That, or listen to the soldiers boast about all the feasts they'd put paid to "back in the day". Back in the day, indeed. Most beasts aboard had seen far too many seasons; veterans, telling tall tales to keep the young, excitable recruits in high spirits.

No, that wasn't for him. Only one thing for it, then: go to Lord Stormstripe. Pledge himself to put an end to this thieving. This rebellion. This . . . this _insubordinate mutiny_.

When he put it that way . . . it sounded downright exciting. Was that a tingle of adventure he felt just then?

Rehearsing the lines he had mulled over in his mind since boarding the _Zephyr_ three days before, he turned from the railing and tramped off, a new resolve in his mind and a spring in his step.

"Better sooner than never, wot!" he declared aloud, getting several strange looks from more than one crewmember. Guarding Crue Sarish's chamber had given him something extra on which to plead his case to Atlas, though: leverage!

Feeling more courageous than he had felt in a long time, the young hare's pace quickened to a gallop as he sped across the fore deck, down the fore ladder, and across the main deck toward Lord Stormstripe's command quarters.

Behind him, Miss Sarish's chambers lay unguarded; in his haste, guard duties were blissfully forgotten.

* * *

Outside the door to the Captain's Quarters, an officer was standing guard with a rapt, attentive expression on his weatherbeaten face. The wind whipped at his thick mustachios, which in turn billowed comically.

As Fildering dashed for the door, the hare officer stepped neatly in his way.

"Stand by, there, soldier. Nobeast is permitted entry to Lord Atlas's chambers without h'explicit permission. State y'business, or be off wi' ye!"

Fildering came to a halt, saluting sharply. "Fildering Dillwithers, sah! Pertinent business with Lord Stormstripe, sah! Concerns the state o' affairs aboard this ship, sah!"

"Hmm. Did 'e send for ye, Mister Dallyfethers?"

The young corporal slumped his shoulders. _Dallyfethers. How hard can it be to get a chap's name right?_

Fildering sighed inwardly. There would most certainly be no luck with this one. "Er . . . negative, sah."

"Then h'I doubt 'e wants t'bother wi' ye! 'Is Nubs 'as got more h'import'nt business to h'attend to, h'I should bally well think, wot! Anythin' else to report, young h'rip?"

Dejected, Fildering turned to leave with a heavy heart. This was to have been his big moment. "N-no . . . sah."

The seasoned officer's solemn mouth split open into a youthful smile. "Well, then, h'I should think a young, resourceful chap such as y'self could come up with an h'idea on 'is own, wot? Mayhap an idea so crackin' good that 'e just might earn an audience with Lord Stormstripe, wouldn't y'think . . . ?"

Fildering spun around. "Wot?"

"Aye. A clever young h'rip just might."

"Y-y'mean it?"

The veteran winked. "I mean it. Go make y'self useful, Mister Dillwithers."

"Y-yes sah! Right away!" Fildering beamed, stumbling off down the steps. He punched the air with his fist as he ran off to muster his frères d'armes, Twilbee and Qwirry, from the mess room.

Finally, a chance to prove his worth. Finally, he was getting somewhere. He _was_ going to meet Lord Atlas. At last! "Yahoo!" he declared; there were no odd looks from the crew this time around. They must've been getting used to it.

* * *

The sun reached its zenith over the Western Ocean as the tired crew continued making their inventory of the ship's stock.

Crates, barrels, and the odd sack of ground barley or wheat lay here and there, every one of them combed over with the discerning eyes of the ship's officers. A salty sea otter paused in the middle of re-packing a footlocker, breathing in deeply and wiping a tattooed forearm across his brow. "Stove me planks, cullies, if'n it don't look t'be a right ole drencher comin' in Northwa's."

"Where away?" a squirrel said, looking up from his own handiwork.

The otter didn't reply, merely nodding in the direction of the distant horizon, which was now brooding with dark stormclouds. Brief lightning flashed, bringing with it the booming report of thunder.

The squirrel cringed slightly. "Let's get all these crates below before it hits, aye?"

"Hoho, bless yore cockles, mate. 'Tis only an ocean deluge, hahaharr! Don't want t'get yore paws wet, bucko?"

The otter's enthusiasm for pounding rain and thunder looked to be unsettling for this squirrel, who nervously edged away with the excuse of retrieving some sort of tonic from the medical bay.

"Now, just a minute, mate. Where away be ye a-headin' off to so sudden? Matey?" The otter turned, sighing, and hefted another sack of grain. "Lubber," he muttered, accompanying his words with a knowing smirk.

"Scuse me, soldier. Name an' rank, if y'please?"

The otter jumped. Fildering Dillwithers was standing behind him.

"Boggle me ship's bells, hoho! I'm Drandy Roaringale, an' bless yore 'eart; I ain't no soldier!"

"We were ordered to search the ship for a thief, or thieves; whichever it bally well is."

"Oh aye? Wot kin an ole otter do ye for, maties?"

Fildering winked at Drandy. He liked this otter. "Thought a seasoned shipsbeast like y'self might know of a place w'might find one, wot?"

"Hahaharr, thankee, mate, but if I knowed wheres t' find one, I warn't be still a-slavin' away at these 'ere crates! I'd say a small creature could 'ide out somewheres in the 'old that we ain't checked yet, though. That's jes' a guess, mate."

"Hmm, well, much obliged t'you, anyway. Heh, nice carvin', wot." The hare noticed the curious depiction on the crate as he passed toward the deck stairs.

"Ain't it! Me'n Wirren noticed it earlier tidday; dunno 'oo drawed it."

 _Though, what's a fat old squirrel doin' fightin' a badger hunchback?_ Fildering mused as he headed for the Mess Hall. Qwirry and Twilbee were bound to be there.

* * *

The sun was making its descent into the horizon and thunder rumbled in the distance as Fildering returned to main deck, his two Galbraith Guard companions in tow. Joviality was at a notable low as the squad marched silently toward the hold entry passage. Drandy Roaringale was just finishing the last crate of the evening when the trio passed.

Fildering paused at the gangway entrance, turning to the old seadog. "Wish us luck, old sport?"

The otter nodded grimly, and with that, the squad plunged into the darkened passage. Paws tightened on sword hilts. The three hares peered around with suspicious eyes as they stepped carefully, slowly down the gang stairway.

Reaching the end of the gang passage, the hares came to another stop. Fildering poked his head into the hold corridor ahead. The first thing to assault his senses was the smell. It was dank and musty, and bore a hint of something else. Something Fildering couldn't quite put a paw on.

"Say, chaps. What _is_ that?" he questioned, his voice a mere whisper.

"Hmm, can't say I know, sah. Blinkin' nasty, if y'ask me," muttered Twilbee, his nose twitching.

"Aye. Smells awful," agreed Qwirry. The hare's eyes narrowed.

"Alright, chaps, lips zipped an' blades at the ready. This's the only place a thief could hide without bein' seen," Fildering whispered. "Fan out. You two check the pantry. I'll check further down in the ballast decks."

The others nodded and headed slowly for the pantry and galley compartments.

Alone at last, Fildering took a cursory glance around the deepest, darkest confines of the ship.

The crates. The sacks. The smell . . . pungent, musky. He had seen a ferret once. Dead. It was the closest thing he could compare this to. As Qwirry had said, _nasty_.

 _The smell._

What was that? He took a deep breath and his instinctual, fine-tuned sense of smell kicked in. Yes. That was it!

Weasel? No. _Rat._

So, the rumors were true. _To think, one o' the very scum we're after, aboard this very flippin' ship!_

His heart began to race, his paws twitched, and his ears became keenly aware of every sound. His paw clutched tightly around the handle of his dussack, tensing in anticipation.

The hare's eyes picked up movement to the north, directly ahead down the corridor.

He tensed. Who could that be? He crept closer, peering through the gloom.

Scully? The hare from the mess hall? Most likely slipping out of here after a bit of scoffing on the sly . . .  
He lowered his blade and crept up. "Scully, is that you?"

The other hare turned, eyes wide. "Filds! Oh, you scared me there."

Fildering let out a deep sigh. So, that's all it was.

"Jove, am I glad to see you. Somechap's been stealin' things, an' we were sent t' find out who. Seen anythin'...suspicious?"

"Er, well, no, not that I know of. Why?"

Fildering's eyes narrowed. Scully was definitely not his usual self. "Hmm. D'you mind helpin' me give the old place a look around, then . . . wot?"

"Ehem, er, have you checked the pantry yet? What about the Galley?" Scully evaded carefully.

"I've already got two lads on the pantry. All we've got left to sweep is this hold. Besides, somethin's not right down here. Smells...strange. Rather like a rat, actually."

That was when the rat jumped him, a long dagger blade of some sort glinting in her one paw and the other paw on his neck. His paw shot out and caught hold of the dagger paw, the other catching hold of the rat's free paw; he struggled, trying to release her desperate chokehold on his throat.

The two went down in a tussle, both grappling with a will. He found himself easily overpowering the slippery attacker, and gave a dry chuckle as he tried to get a grip on her arm as she thrashed. "Oh, no ye don't!"

But she did. The rat quickly wriggled out of his grip and scrabbled back, panting.

Fildering launched himself at the rat, who presently threw herself to the side with a startled squeak. "Stand down, y'piratey fiend! I'm taking you in, by gerry!"

The rat acted quickly. Scrambling to her nimble paws, she darted out past the hare and into the corridor. Fildering saw her look back over her shoulder as she launched into a charge for the exit, which in turn led directly up the passage and out toward the main deck. Fildering dashed after her, breathing heavily. Try as he may, the rat was too fast for him.

 _Ye cats, she's going to make it! Faster, old boy!_ he mentally roared at himself. She was through the hold gangway now.

Her escape would have been surprisingly simple had there not been two hares walking down the corridor, heading right toward her with careless oblivion in the Stygian darkness.

"Gah, I say there; some rotter's tripped me up, Qwirry old boy!"

"It's the bally old foebeast, Twilly old thing! Give 'em bracken an' beetroot, wot! Eulalia!"

The rat went down in a tangled mess of bodies before she could stop her mad dash. Fildering saw his opportunity and took it. As the target attempted to extricate her tail from under the arm of a hare and her right foot from under a hare's muzzle, she found herself looking precariously down the sharp end of a dussack. Fildering Dillwithers stood over his capture, eyes narrowed as he leveled the sword with the rat's face. "Twilbee. Qwirry. Place this vermin under arrest. We've caught ourselves a spy, by jingo jerry."

Fildering saw the rat's eyes shift. The stowaway must've seen the combative aspect of the metaphorical "game" was up, because she quickly took a different tact: "Oh please, sir, don't turn me in! I've got a husband an' ten kids to look after! They won't know what to do with their lives wi'out no mum to guide 'em!"

"That very bloomin' well may be, but I'm taking you in, by jove! Offisah's orders an' all that, wot wot! Don't worry, it'll just be a few months in the brig or some unpleasant deckwashin' duties, donchaknow! Your eleventynine kids can make do without a thief for a mum for a season, by the left. Now, march!"

"Wait, stop! Stop! Atlas is crazy, he'll ki-" Scully attempted to block the path of the soldiers, but was merely shoved aside by the older, bigger hares. He followed along behind them still, however, shouting frantically.

Amid the protests of both vermin and pirate aspirant, Fildering and his squad trooped up the flight of stairs through the stores corridor, and out onto the main deck. They headed straight for Atlas's quarters, with their new prisoner neatly in tow, and a bedraggled young hare running after them, yelling at the top of his lungs.

They didn't need to travel far, however. The badger was on his way across the deck at that very moment, heading for the forecastle cabins. At the commotion, Fildering saw Lord Stormstripe's head turn sharply; saw the single dark eye. Dead ahead.

* * *

A light sprinkle of rainwater spattered the deck of the mighty _Zephyr_ as Lord Atlas Stormstripe of the Western Coasts and Waverunner Fleet looked down at the rat. His officers grouped around, watching him intently. Passing crewmembers stopped in their tracks, other duties forgotten as they hung silently about; there would be no missing this. Fildering caught the familiar faces of Sarish and Robert in the small crowd.

Fildering felt his throat tighten as Atlas stared at the rat through his one cold, furious eye. A pitiful creature. Surely Atlas would have mercy. But Atlas had no pity, nor the time to bother with vermin pirate filth. He spoke with an icy, merciless edge to his voice that raised the fur on Fildering's back."You found the thieving pirate spy. Good work . . ." To Fildering, the badger seemed to be fighting inwardly a moment. Against some unseen darkness that threatened to blur the entire scope of the massive badger's vision. Fildering saw the red tinge coming to the badger's eye and shivered.

"Bring me my sword, Colonel."

"She's hardly a pirate, sah...she's nothing more than a youth!" said Frederick, hesitating.

Fildering gasped. "Sah, I must protest. I didn't think anything like this wou-"

And there was Scully, unable to stop himself from speaking with the rest of them; his voice was at a high-pitched crescendo now. "In the name of the red flags of Barranca, with the true king of the seas as my witness, you will surely pay for this!"

"Silence!" The badger's voice was a low growl now. Ignoring the protests, he repeated his demand to the Colonel: "Bring me my sword."

Frederick hastened to obey this time. Scully had to be restrained by the fatherly Robert.

Fildering lowered his head apologetically. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Where was the Atlas of his dream? Where were the honorable, just hares of the Long Patrol he had so often envisioned as a young leveret? Where was the "grand moment" he had so often foreseen?

"My mind is made up," Atlas said flatly, breaking Fildering's reverie. "Step aside, Dillwithers."

There was a certain fire in the badger's one eye as he spoke.

Fildering tensed a moment, indecisive. Something in the badger's tone told him that remaining where he stood was not an available option.

The young hare stepped aside, shaken.

The rat thief shrunk back on the deck. "Don't, please..."

Accepting the huge battle blade, Atlas took a step forward.

Fildering watched with horror as the stowaway curled into a protective ball, arms crossed desperately over her face.

The badger raised the sword over his head, his single good eye now clouded red with the Bloodwrath. Most crewbeasts shut their eyes in disgust and horror. Robert covered Scully's eyes with a sheltering paw, and Sarish was watching with a distant expression. Robert looked at Fildering. The look was enough.

Fildering turned away, disgusted with himself. With the world. He stumbled to the deckrail, feeling ready to lose his supper over the side. The rush of adrenaline and euphoria at capturing Plink had evaporated, replaced by nothing but cruel guilt. His eyes were leaden as he gazed out over the sea that wasn't interesting anymore. The rain was coming down in torrents now. He half considered throwing himself overboard. Glory. Fame. Status with a badger he could hardly look at now. What were they worth? His dreams had been nothing more than shapes in the fog. Shapes in the fog...

Fildering's heart nearly skipped a beat. A shape in the fog. But it was there when he looked again, as real as the pine of the deckrail beneath his paws.  
 _A ship!_

Thinking fast for a quick distraction to Atlas's blood fury, the hare rushed to the ship's bell and rang it hard, throwing back his head at the same time and shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Sails awa'! Dead ahead! Dead ahead!"


	13. For Whom the Bell Tolls

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **For Whom the Bell Tolls**

 _By: Vera Silvertooth_

* * *

Vera Silvertooth grabbed a basket on her way out the inn's back door and stepped into the pre-dawn light. _Hope the catch was good last night. I wonder if there will be anything new to try today?_

The vixen had been in the port town for almost half a season. She'd found a cooking job at the Cracked Oyster Inn. Pay wasn't great, but already the word of her cooking was spreading through town and the Oyster's clientele had increased. Another season or two and she would have enough coin to put another town behind her.

She thought about the ruby amulet sitting in a hidden pocket on the underside of her apron. Perhaps it was finally time to head home? Wouldn't Mother be surprised to see the old heirloom back in family paws? Of course, that would be if her mother still lived. One never knew about such things and Vera had been on the road, cooking her way from town to town, for seasons, with hardly a word sent back home.

Vera reached the fish market and began browsing the selection. She glared at anybeast who tried to shove something in her face, but engaged the less pushy ones in conversation. Ocean fish were new to her and the possibilities were endless. How would this flounder taste roasted, steamed, or poached? She'd heard fried fish was quite the treat. Perhaps she could stuff it with something?

"By the by," the fish merchant said. "There were a rat askin' for a vixen among the boats this mornin'."

Vera frowned. "Do tell?"

"Aye, he described ye from snout t' tail, miss. Ye must have just missed him."

Vera tapped a claw on the wood of the merchant's table. "This rat... what did he look like?"

"Oh, soldier type wit' the armor and sword. No fur on his left hindquarter. Looked like he were burned there."

She hissed softly through her teeth, then forced a grin. "Thank you very much. Did he happen to say where he was going?" _So I can go the opposite direction!_

"Not that I heard. Want me t' wrap the flounder for ye?"

"Um, yes." She handed over the required coins and put the paper wrapped flounder in her basket. Her movements were calm and utterly opposite what her mind was doing. A rat. A soldier rat with burns. Possibly one of the soldiers from Fort Blackfur. She must not have covered her tracks nearly as completely as she thought if one survived and tailed her here.

 _I have to get out of this town now. Even if this rat isn't from Blackfur, it's too much of a coincidence to ignore._ Her eyes drifted to the ships lying at anchor as she walked along the dock. _That's it! There was talk last night at one of the tables about no ship's cook on the_ Silver... Silver Something-or-other.

When Vera got to the Cracked Oyster, she slipped in through the back as quietly as possible. None of the inn's other workers were about, so she left the fish on the table, and scampered to her little room just off the kitchen. In only minutes, she returned carrying a packed bag and grabbed her personal cooking knife from the block. Leaving neither word nor note, she passed out the door like an orange ghost.

When the _Silver Maiden_ sailed with the tide, she carried with her a new galley cook.

* * *

Vera Silvertooth closed the door to Captain Ciera's quarters. _Honestly, thinking I actually had anything to do with the poisoning! How stupid does she think I am? If poison is in the food, of course the cook would be the first to fall under suspicion. If I were going to poison anybeast, I wouldn't be staying aboard this floating rain barrel waiting to get caught!_

Besides, I'm the one who tipped her off in the first place.

The vixen hurried across the foggy deck. She avoided the few crewbeasts on deck. The mysterious island that everybeast said held Captain Blade's infamous treasure had been spotted just before the rain earlier in the day. However, with the recess of the storm, the fog had rolled in with a slight breeze. Lanterns blazed from all sides of the Silver Maiden now, creating a bubble of light in the darkening twilight.

She shouldered open the door to the galley, slammed it, and returned to the soup she'd left simmering when Tooley had summoned her to the Captain. Vera lifted the lid off of a large heavy pot that hung from the ceiling over the galley's poor excuse for a cookfire. The fire itself was built in a brick box filled with sand to keep the fire from burning through the deck. A simple thick stew of beans, reconstituted vegetables, and a few pieces of the leftover tuna from the night before simmered within and she sampled it with a long wooden spoon.

"Oh, for some fresh produce! A salad would go wonderfully with this! None of these sad, dried husks that pass as vegetables." Vera sighed, "I suppose it will have to do. Hmph, if I had my way, this wouldn't even been considered fit for Chak's slaves. At least I have been spared from that odious task. Chak's precious Minstrel would sing a different tune if he wanted a meal at all." She replaced the lid and rinsed the spoon in a small bucket of water that she kept nearby before hanging it on the nail she'd designated for it.

The Silver Maiden rolled and Vera staggered, catching herself against the table she used for preparing the meals. She attempted to curse. "By my auntie's silver longjohns!" Pirates did have such colorful swearing, though her attempts to fit in with the crew usually just earned her odd looks, and occasionally loud guffaws. "Next time I need a quick getaway, I am not picking a pirate ship. Treasure or no treasure, I cannot work in these conditions!"

At least she didn't fall near the fire this time. The first day at sea a fortnight ago had her tripping all over the galley and she'd fallen close to the open fire where she burned the fur from one side of her tail. She'd trimmed the blackened, curled bits away, but her poor tail wouldn't be back to it's fire-shaded glory for at least half a season.

The now dead Ginson had been the witness to that and he'd made certain to share her humiliating experience with the rest of the crew.

Oh, but he got his just desserts, and by his own paw as well. When she'd returned from a quick trip to the storeroom, she'd seen him tampering with the food intended for Captain Ciera. He never saw her, so she ducked away and quickly reported his suspicious behavior to the Captain.

If Ginson had been successful in poisoning Captain Ciera, Vera knew that she would easily be the prime suspect. Even after Captain Ciera managed to turn the tables, Vera had been half expecting to face more backlash from the attack.

She almost pitied Tooley, but as far as that went, it wasn't her problem. The Captain could deal with the attempted assassination as she saw fit, as long as Vera wasn't bothered by it.

Vera pushed away from the table and got acclimated to the Silver Maiden's pitch and roll once more. She stepped over to the cupboard where the sorry excuses for dishes were kept. The only decent set seemed to be the ones reserved for Captain Ciera and the other officers. She piled them on the table near the pot. Next to that, she put out the fluffy biscuits that she'd baked this afternoon while the rain had poured.

"Maybe I can convince a few of the crew to forage for fresh supplies on the island tomorrow. Promise something special for the volunteers, perhaps?" She simpered at an imaginary crewbeast. "What would you rather have? Rusty old treasure or a specially cooked treat?" She wrinkled her nose. "Pirates. Of course they'd take the treasure."

Satisfied that supper was as complete as it could get tonight, Vera left the galley once more. _Time to feed the pirate horde. I'll put out the fire after some of the crew has eaten, so the soup will stay hot for the last in line._

First thing, though, she needed to see if the Captain wished to be served before the rest of the crew. After the fiasco with Ginson, Captain Ciera had chosen a wiser course of serving herself from the same pot the rest of the crew supped from.

Back on deck, Vera looked towards the bow and out to sea. She saw a distant shadow in the fog just off the right of the bow.

 _That must be the island,_ she thought.

The vixen walked passed a group of pirates playing bone toss and various other forms of gambling. A few passed around bottles of foul smelling grog.

"They be saying that Cap'n Blade's ghost guards the island, steering The Phantom around an' around just waiting for the likes o' us to venture too close. She appears out o' thin air an' if you attack, you're sure to sink."

"I heard," another crewbeast said, "that the last thing ye hear afore she attacks is the ship's bell tollin'."  
The pirates all laughed, but their eyes glanced toward the sea.

 _What a load of superstitious pirate nonsense!_ Vera reached Captain Ciera's door and raised her paw to knock. Somewhere out in the fog, a bell began ringing. Vera's fur stood up all over her body and the Silver Maiden's crew fell still.

Chak's laughter broke the silence. "It jus' be Vera's dinner bell. Grub be served, mates." Amid nervous chortles, there was a mass exodus towards Vera's galley.

"I didn't ring the bell," she said. Her voice, though not raised, drew enough attention. Pirates turned to stare at her. Some peered out into the foggy twilight.

All at once, there was a scramble on deck and someone rang the Silver Maiden's bell five times in rapid succession. All around Vera, pirates scrambled hither and yon to their assigned battle stations.

Vera looked back toward the island. The shadow of the island had grown bigger. Much bigger.

"That's... not..." Her breath caught for an instant, then she screamed. "SHIP!"

A massive blue and gold vessel bore down on them.

With splintering crunching, the larger ship ground alongside the Silver Maiden. Oars snapped like toothpicks and the agonized screams of the slaves below mingled with the cries and roars of outrage from the pirates. Vera was flung to the deck as the ship lurched.

Slowly getting back to her feet, she stared at the passing stern end of the huge ship that had rammed them, and saw the most frightening sight ever she'd ever seen.

A badger.

She whirled around and shoved her way past pirates so she could get back to the safety of her galley. She had a knife in there! A little weapon would be better than nothing, even if it were a needle compared to that monster of a badger!

The door stuck worse this time, and she threw her weight against it to force it open.

Then Vera realized that the badger was not the worst thing.

The impact of the bigger vessel had wreaked havoc on her galley. The pot swung on it's chain, dribbling soup over the sides. Scattered among the wooden dishes and downed biscuits were chunks of burning charcoal from the fire. The dry wood of the galley floor had already caught.

"Fire!" she screamed, heading back out on deck. "Fire in the galley!"


	14. Impact

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Impact**

 _By: Fildering_

* * *

Fildering let go of the bellrope, watching Atlas's furious reaction.

The great scarred face turned abruptly to look off into the mists at the approaching vessel.

"Seascum!" the badger hissed through his teeth. He rushed to the forward deckrail, dark eye glaring at the ship in the fog. Clearly, one prisoner was of little consequence at the moment. Fildering breathed out a slow sigh of relief.

It was short-lived, however.

"Colonel!" Atlas said gruffly.

Fildering looked to Frederick, who shot him a quick nod in return before dashing up to join Lord Stormstripe on the forecastle. "They haven't noticed us yet, despite that infernal bell-ringing," Atlas was saying.

"Orders, sah?" the veteran said, his voice barely above a whisper.  
As he secured the prisoner, Fildering saw Atlas's eye brighten, almost maniacally so. "How's the wind behind us?" the badger asked.

"Couldn't be better, m'lord," Frederick replied. "Why?"

The big badger shrugged. "Because we're going to ram them."

" _Ram_ them, sah?" Frederick's voice was incredulous.

Fildering had heard enough. He exchanged a nervous look with Scully before shouting to Qwirry and Twilbee, "Qwirro, Twils!"

"Yes sah!" the beasts in question responded simultaneously.

"Take th' prisoner down to the brig an' secure 'er there, wot! Things are about to get rough!"

The two saluted eagerly, hoisting Plink by her shoulders. "Yes sah! Right away, sah! Securin' prisoner in th' brig, sah!"

The pair tramped off toward the hold corridor, leaving Fildering at the fore.

The unseasoned hare stood alongside the Colonel and Lord Stormstripe as the enemy vessel's wall of oars became fully visible. A pirate galley.

Drandy Roaringale, the otter he had met previously, slid up alongside him at the rail, eyes aglow. The otter reached out and patted the hare on the shoulder with hearty enthusiasm. "Hoho, this's where th' real fun starts, son."

Fildering moaned.

"Line her up to ram, Colonel," Atlas ordered.

"Aye aye." Frederick turned to the crew and passed the order on. "Line up to ram to port!"

"Lining up to ram portside, sir," came the boatswain's reply. "Angled at sixty-two degrees now."

Fildering saw Atlas nod. "Good."

"That blinkin' angle's too low. We'll scrape the blighters more than we'll hit them. Hmm, waterspeed report?" asked a nervous Frederick.

"Five knots, sir," the boatswain replied.

"Our angle's off, sah," said Frederick. "We can't board like this."

"I don't care." Atlas's claws were digging into the carved-pine railing, scoring great scratches in the finish. Fildering felt a lump growing in his throat.

Frederick turned apologetically to the shrew boatswain. "Continue ramming operations."

"Aye aye, sir." The shrew lowered his head.

The _Zephyr_ was cruising now, like an unstoppable juggernaut, rain-battered white sail canvases stretched to their limits. Ahead, the galley lay in full view through the fog.  
Fildering began to fidget with pure excitement, coupled with dread. _Pirates._ He looked around for Scully; the younger hare should've been here for this moment, but was evidently nowhere to be seen. Fildering couldn't dwell on it long, however. The _Zephyr_ was closing, and closing fast.

His heart pounded in his ears as his eyes began to pick out individual vermin on the pirate ship's deck.

"Six knots. Brace for impact!" the boatswain shouted out. Those crew who hadn't yet done so rushed to batten themselves down.

Fildering gripped the rail tightly, paws going bone-white. He tried to keep watch, but the anxiety proved too much for the young soldier. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

Then came the crash, and a thundering crack as the pirate vessel's oars splintered like matchsticks and their port wale crunched under the battering. A violent shudder reverberated down the length and breadth of the _Zephyr_. The jarring impact threw Fildering and several others backward onto the forecastle deck; the hare tumbled head over paws into the foremast.

He lay in pain for a long moment. The ramming had caused a part of the vermin oardeck to collapse, and agonized shrieks of both foebeast and slave rent the night air. Fildering clapped both paws to his ears, trying to shut out the awful noise.

Nearby, through buzzing ears, he could hear Frederick and Atlas shouting.

"We took out their portside oar banks, sah. Should we lower th' boats an' row across for boarding, sah?"

"No. Ram her again!" came the badger's rough reply.

" _Sah_?"

"I said, ram her again, Colonel!"

Rubbing bruised limbs, Fildering scrambled up as the _Zephyr_ raked alongside the crippled enemy ship.

He stumbled over to the splintered deckrail, eyes wide and head throbbing painfully. He stared at Atlas, incredulous. _Isn't once enough?_

* * *

The _Zephyr_ hauled past the floundering corsair galley, its golden sides thoroughly smashed and gouged. Arrows flooded through the air in a deadly exchange between the two vessels, and Fildering thought he saw more than one beast go down on the pirate deck. He averted his eyes, subconsciously hoping he hadn't.

"Dwinno! Damage report?" Frederick shouted to the shrew boatswain above the roar as the _Zephyr_ finished her pass of the enemy ship.

"Unknown." Dwinno paused a moment, chewing his lip indecisively.

"We need a report on that bloody damage!" yelled Frederick.

The shrew paused a moment more, then called to the seasoned deckhand, Drandy, and another, younger otter, "You two! Check the stern, now! I want a full damage report!"  
He turned to a mouse and squirrel standing nearby. "And you, check the port wale, sharpish!"

Drandy and the younger otter, whose name was Finrel, stamped off past Fildering toward the stern.

The hare watched them go, reeling with the shock and realization that Atlas was truly mad with his hate for vermin. He fully realized that now. He had to get away from Atlas. A bit of escape from the fore, and all those eyes of the beasts who'd seen him take a young rat to the brink of death. He flushed at the thought of Plink, poor, helpless in his eyes, surrounded by watching crewbeasts, about to be punished in some horrible fashion suiting Lord Atlas . . . or worse. And it had all been because of him.

Trying to stifle his current thought pattern, he jogged after Drandy and Finrel, calling with a voice of forced humor, "I say, mind if I toddle along, chaps?"

The otters continued jogging sternward, although the elder of the two did turn his head.

"Not at all, Fildy mate!" Drandy replied with a wink. "Gettin' away from th' roarin' an' wheesht up front, aye?"

Fildering nodded apologetically, quickly inventing an excuse other than his own guilt. "I-it's absolutely bonkers up there, old fellow. No offense intended, but does His Nubbs really intend on bally rammin' 'em again? If he wasn't Lord o' Salamandastron, I'd say 'e didn't have both bloomin' oars in th' water, if y'know what I mean."

"Hmm, who knows what goes on in th' minds o' badger lords, mate? 'Tis up to us jes' to do what we're paid for, while we're paid to do it, I'd say. If 'e rams again, that's 'is business. Come on, laddie, if yore comin'."

The trio quickened their pace as they slipped through the aft corridor and out the stern gallery doorway. They emerged onto the stern balcony, the golden inlay of which shimmered gently in the flickering eventide moonlight. The otters set to work at once, peering all around the stern of the galleon for signs of damage.

Silence reigned among the three. They knew a battle was coming, and it was going to be ugly. There was little to say, but the crushing urge to speak while he still had a chance loomed over the corporal. For the moment, he held it in.

Drandy broke the silence as they searched. "Well, 'ere we are, buckoes. Let's see what's 'appened t' this bird."

"Hmm, all's clear on this level."

"Aye, same o'er 'ere. Wot about th' starboard side?"

"I'll try that; then, we're goin' fer a dive. Best check that they 'aven't damaged our rudder assembly."

"Drands, old thing- " the hare began.

"Aye?" the otter prompted.

"Have you . . . I mean t' say, d'you suppose . . . would Lord Stormstripe have really slain that rat back there, just now? Just for takin' things?"

Drandy sighed. His kind old eyes winced. "Ye don't want to go there, shipmate. Let's jes' finish what we're out 'ere for . . . aye?"

Taking that as a confirmation, Fildering went silent. Searching alongside the two, the young soldier made a note that Finrel was also quiet beyond his usual. He wasn't surprised. A lot of stress had built up among the crew in light of recent events.

Fildering leaned out over the stern balcony railing, letting the cool breeze drift through his fur. It had a slight calming effect on his feverish mind. He listened to the wind and felt the fog mist on his face. Listened to the wind.

The . . . clacking, cacaphonous wind.

He felt a feeling of creeping suspicion wash over him. Cacaphonous? Was that the sound of _coopering_? He leaned further, looking down at the steering bloc and rudder as the _Zephyr_ came to a slow halt. "I say, you chaps . . . somebeast's down there, wot."

" _Wot_?"

Drandy was at his side in an instant. "Where awa'?"

"Hoi, I don't see anythin'," said Finrel, chewing his lip. "Could just be th' wind, matey."

"I...I can't quite make out th' bounder, but I c'n 'ear the racket. Bloomin' awful, wot? 'E must be trying to cripple our rudder!"

The hare pointed down. The otters eyes followed his.

"Maybe, ba . . ."

Finrel's voice drifted off as both he and Drandy's eyes lit up.

"I 'ears it now," Drandy said under his breath, turning to face Fildering. "It's a sabeetur. Go get reinfrostiments. Tell the bo's'n. Anybeast. Get 'em over 'ere, mate, an' make it quick-like; me 'n' Finrel're goin' in." With that, the old seadog charged at the railing and threw himself overboard, with Finrel following close behind.

Fildering waited until he heard two loud splashes before he dashed off to muster what he could of the crew.

* * *

The _Zephyr_ had turned once again to face the _Silver Maiden_ as Fildering made his way out onto her main deck, jogging frantically. Spotting the boatswain and officers still gathered on the forecastle, he rushed across the open deck and scrabbled up the fore ladder.

As he topped the ladder, breathing heavily, Fildering heard Atlas repeating the order to build ramming speed a second time; saw Frederick arguing with voice raised in passionate resolve.

"There are slaves on that vessel!" Frederick was saying now, whiskers twitching. "Why not send out the boats to board?"

"Because I command it! Are you disobeying a direct order . . . Colonel?"

Frederick stood eye-to-eye with Atlas, resolution etched on his face. There was a desperate note to the older hare's voice when he turned to Dwinno.

"Waterspeed report?"

"Four knots, sir," came the boatswain's reply.

"Angle?"

"Seventy-five degrees, sir. Even if we tried to stop, it's too late now."

The hare turned back to Atlas, sighing in surrender. "We're set to ram, sah, whether some of us want it, or not."

"Good."

Fildering froze. The badger's single, gimlet eye was completely clouded with deep scarlet mist. His conversation with Drandy came rushing back to him; the feeling of dread at the murder he'd almost witnessed clutched at him like some primeval monster. He shuddered. _Murderer._

"What's th' matter, Mister Dillwithers?" asked Dwinno, noticing the hare's distant expression.

Fildering snapped out of it. "Er, wot? Ah, er, right, sah: Mister Roaringale, deck-paw second-class sent me, sah," he half-whispered to avoid accruing Atlas's interest, "an' says 'e's in need o' bally h'assistance on th' blinkin' stern gallery. Found suspicious personage there who may offer resistance, wot wot. That's all, sah."

The boatswain nodded grimly and stood up, declaring to Frederick, "I must take short leave, Colonel. A business with the tiller has come up."

Swiftpaw nodded simply. The badger said nothing, apparently uninterested.

Shrew boatswain and hare soldier made haste to abandon the forecastle, making their way down the stairs and then across the main deck.

"There's somebeast there, ye say?"

"Positive, sah," Fildering replied, secretly glad to be out of Atlas's vicinity. He was surprised and disgusted that he felt this way, but he felt it nonetheless.

"Are ye sure it's not one of ours?"

"Negative, sah."

Dwinno rushed along, slightly behind Fildering, calling out to various inactive deckhands as they went, "Hoi! Gerro, Limpry, Fraggs! To the stern; follow th' rabbit!"

The impromptu group rushed for the stern, as fast as their paws could carry them, weapons clutched tightly in ready paws.

It was a short trip across the main deck at their increased spead, and the the fivesome burst out onto the stern gallery balcony in record time.

The hedgehog, Gerro, pointed at several forms in the water, shouting, "Look, over there!"

The two river otters were closing on the saboteur, a large, muscly creature that was putting up quite a resistance. Fildering fancied it looked like an otter, but what kind of otter would be attacking _Zephyr_?

Whatever it was, the hare wasn't letting it get away with this. "Come on, chaps! Get 'im!" He snatched up a long fishing spear and hurled it at the enemy; Dwinno followed suit, whirling off a slingstone into the choppy seas. The others set at it with a will, shouting and launching projectiles of varying shapes and sizes at the mystery creature, who dodged them with proficient ease.

"Did I hit it?"

"I dunno, mate, but I think I lopped its fat tail off, by blood!"

"Hah, clean yore eyes out, bucko. 'Twas my shot what did 'im in."

Fildering took up another long spear and slung it with all his force. The weapon hit the water with a dull splash. The saboteur was boxed in; projectiles were coming in on the left, and otters closed on the right.

A mouse came rushing out onto the stern gallery balcony. "We're closing in to ram! Captain wants all able paws to the fore!"

Fildering paused in the middle of reaching for another javelin.

Dwinno peered down over the balcony rail. "Ye got 'im, lads?"

Drandy called up, "Situation's unner control, mates! We've got 'im cornered! We'll catch ye up later, when we're done dealin' wi' this fiend."

". . . Right. Hmm, well, I s'pose that means we're no longer needed, cully," Dwinno addressed Fildering. "Best foller Cap'n's orders and head back to the fore."

The hare turned, giving one last glance toward the dark waters behind the ship. "Righto, sah. Glad I could be of assistance, wot."

Fildering traipsed off, heading back toward the main deck. Orders were orders.

* * *

The _Zephyr_ was thrusting back in for the killing stroke at breakneck speed. The familiar thrum of the wind in the sails rose in his ears again, coupled with the roaring churn of the seas against the speeding bulk of the massive galleon. The hare had just made his way out the stern corridor and was halfway across the main deck when the _Silver Maiden_ once again came sharply into view. Fildering took a deep breath. He'd never make it to the forecastle in time. The waves lashing at the speeding ship had reached a roaring crescendo now, coupled with the whining of the ratlines. There was no time to take hold of anything. Instead, he threw himself flat on the deck, paws covering his head as the two ships once again collided with force.

There was the familiar ringing of the ship's bell, and then a defeaning roar of crashing timbers as the _Zephyr_ 's mass connected with the smaller pirate vessel amidships. Tackle lines snapped and whirred, spars splintered and the bowsprit smashed against the enemy foremast. The already-weakened wale of the _Silver Maiden_ caved completely; the ship sagged in the water. The bow of the _Zephyr_ held fast in the enemy's timbers.  
The world was gray for a moment, then Fildering was roughly hauled up off the deck by Gerro. No time to waste. _Not one bloody second_.  
The hare staggered over to the mainmast and lay back against its heavy pine timbers, taking a few long breaths.

This was it.

Fildering jumped up, drawing his dussack and heading to the shattered fore; he saw Atlas turn to Frederick.

"Give the command, Colonel."

The crew and soldiers stood about expectantly, tensed and waiting.

For the second time since sighting the vermin ship, Frederick stopped in his tracks. "Sah, wouldn't it be best if we call for their surrender? While they're in disarray, I'm sure they'd- "

"Colonel Swiftpaw, you heard your orders. _Give the command_."

"But, sah, this is wrong. We don't have to kill them. They're sufficiently weakened to th' bally point that they'd surrender, given the chance, I'm sure. We could easily-"

Atlas frowned, his expression darkening. "Do not try my patience, Colonel. Not now." The badger turned hastily to a younger officer nearby. "I've no time for this nonsense. You there!"

"Killian Wrightbones, sah, Lieutenant First Class, wot!"

"Not anymore. I'm promoting you to Colonel-Commandant, effective immediately. Give the order to charge."

Frederick's eyes widened in surprise at the other hare's sudden promotion. "Lord Atlas, I must object!"

Atlas looked back to hare. "Then do as I say, and _give the order_!"

Frederick stayed silent, his gaze narrowing at the badger.

"We shall talk about this later, Colonel Swiftpaw," Atlas warned, turning back to where Killian stood. "If you would, Colonel Wrightbones."

The hare shuddered a moment, blustery, not quite able to take his sudden promotion in. The moment didn't last long, however. He turned to Fildering. "Corporal, relay th' command! We're chargin' in, by th' left! Up an' at 'em, chaps! Chaaarge!"

"Give 'em blood an' vinegar, wot! Eulaliaaa!" the Corporal cried.

Fildering charged over the _Zephyr_ 's massive bow and leaped clear, his footpaws hitting home on the pirate deck moments later. Hares, hedgehogs, mice, squirrels and otters charged past, howling the time-honored warcry of fighting woodlanders. "Eulaliaaaa!"  
Fildering barely paused, taking it all in with fervent passion, then with a wild laugh dashed headlong into the fray. Immediately he set eyes on a scowling fox corsair with a boathook and rushed at the vermin, bladepaw eagerly dancing at his side. The fox responded with force, bringing its wicked-looking boathook into action.

Instinctively the hare brought his own blade to bear, but the reach advantage of the polearm had him hard-pressed. The corsair was a seasoned killer; Fildering could see that from the way he used his weapon to the scars and tattoos crossing his lean-muscled chest. The hare swung his blade desperately, just barely managing to ward off the attacks.

The fox stabbed to the left; Fildering parried to the left.

The fox hooked to the right; Fildering blocked to the right, but his opponent was quicker.

The corsair was on top of him in an instant. Fildering saw no mirth in the eyes of his enemy; only the harrowed look of desperate survival.

The fox pirate pushed him to the ground and drove in with the boathook. The hare gasped with pain as the spiked weapon scored along the side of his ribs, taking off fur and flesh, and ended point-down in the deck beside him.

It was going to be him, or the fox.

The big fox grappled him further, a wide grin spreading across its face. A grin of victory.

His assailant died with that smile. Blood, lots of the nasty, oozy stuff, gushed out and down the rufous corsair's pulsating neck from where a long, gray arrow fletched with sparrowfeathers had penetrated the base of its skull. The vermin crumpled to the deck with a dull clunk of seaboots and the clattering of the now-ownerless boathook.

 _The devil . . . ?_ Fildering blinked in surprise, looking first at the dead fox beside him and then to the pirate's killer.

 _Good old Dwinno._

"I say there, thanks for th' bally thought, but I had him there completely, donchaknow."

"Oh, aye . . ." the shrew winked in response. Fildering got to his feet, picking up his fallen blade in the process.

By some means or other, the sails were ablaze now, and somebeast- a weasel, he saw -was attempting to put the fire out, one bucket of seawater at a time. One weasel. His old bravado heightened, but a sharp pain told him his physical condition wasn't going to any time soon. He reached down and touched his side where the boathook had scored him; his paw came back bloody. Trying to maintain proper footing, he winced and stumbled off toward the weasel, leaving Dwinno to work with the others on the quarterdeck behind him.

The pirate turned as he approached. The hare thanked the fates under his breath; the weasel's manner and eyes betrayed him as a coward at best. Fildering chuckled, dodging as a screeching stoat and a squirrel went down past him, grappling ferociously with daggers in their paws. He jogged toward the weasel, a lackadaisical mood taking his mental reins. Enough of pondering and moral quandaries. It was time for some bladework.

"I say there, y'greasy toad, 'ello. Hah, no luck puttin' out that fire, I see. 'Pologies to break up y'gig an' all, but . . . Eulalia!"

Fildering dove in, giving a invitational cut. The weasel ducked wildly, releasing his hold on the half-empty bucket in his paws. The blade swished harmlessly overhead, and the weasel stumbled awkwardly. The bucket hit the deck at the same time the weasel did. Fildering ignored the pain in his side, laughing despite it all. Were all weasels like this?

"Harrumph, no weapon on ye," the hare tutted, shaking his head. "My mistake, old chap! Can't make this unfair, now, can we?"

The hare searched the deck, spotting an unoccupied cutlass lying near the mast several steps away. He scuffed it over to the downed vermin. The weasel stood up, accepting the cutlass.

"Ah, there we are! Now up an' at em! This'll be a right rippin' old battle for the jolly songwriters, wot?"

The weasel leapt, swinging crazily and sending himself off-balance in the process.

"Easy there, old sort!" Fildering said, catching the unfortunate pirate's blade as he continued. "Now again, with less, err, gusto!"

The weasel lunged with an overhead cut. Fildering parried and advanced with a speedy riposte. This time, the weasel matched his assault with a parry.

He chuckled. "Now you're gettin' it! By jove, you'll turn into a boomin' proper fighter yet, m' old weasel!"

The vermin was not amused. Growling, he attacked.

"Good parry, but a bally poor advance," the hare continued as the blades crashed against each other. "Careful with your fades, mate, and stop bein' so flippin' aggressive!"

"Shuddup!" the weasel screeched, attacking again.

Fildering dodged, but just barely. The ugly abrasion along his side was taxing his willpower. Either he ended this deadly game now, or he risked tiring himself to injury. He grimaced and dove in close, locking blades low and twisting violently. The weasel let go, hopping with pain.

"Hmm . . . I say, er . . . well, I suppose that's the blinkin' end o' that, wot . . . lesson's over."

Fildering leveled his blade with the weasel's throat. Another _pirate_ , dead . . .

An image of Plink, balled up on the deck and sobbing for mercy, sprang unbidden to his mind.

 _"This is wrong."_ Frederick's words seemed to whisper in protest.

His paw slackened for one brief moment of indecision. The weasel was weaponless.

 _This isn't how a real soldier fights._ One unarmed weasel was of little trouble to anybeast. He'd already proven himself. Besides, some other chap might come along and finish the job, anyway.

 _You can walk away from this._

Fildering sighed inwardly and started to withdraw his blade.

His swordpaw had just begun to move when the world exploded, and just before he was swept away, Fildering Dillwithers thought he distinctly heard bells.


	15. Of Steel and Fire

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Of Steel and Fire**

 _by: Tooley_

* * *

It was with a tremendous groan that the world lost its balance.

Tooley yelped as the floor of the barracks suddenly vanished from beneath him. His elbow slammed hard on something, and he collapsed on his side against a flat and wooden surface. Whether it was the floor or the ceiling, Tooley wasn't sure. Several lanterns along the walls of the barracks flickered out, and the whole ship trembled in what must have been the heart of the darkest storm.

Then came the noise. The barracks exploded with screams - horrible screams from the slave galley, mingling with the bellowing of dozens of corsairs, all spitting curses into the barracks. Tooley grit his teeth and clutched his paws to his ears, wishing desperately for the noise to end.

The shaking stopped first, then the screams muffled to moaning. Tooley cracked open an eye and looked up slowly. The barracks had darkened considerably. A few remaining lanterns illuminated the crumpled, contorted forms of the other corsairs along the barracks, along with a single, knowing look upon each of their faces.

They all knew something had gone very, very wrong.

Tooley scrambled to his feet and began wobbling his way through the patchwork light. Despite his best efforts, he found himself stepping on tails and kicking heads, though no one shouted at him as they might have usually done.

A few other quick-thinking pirates had gathered at the hatchway, pushing their way up onto the deck. Tooley gripped the bars of the ladder and hurried up. A chill ran over him as soon as his head popped up from the hatch, the cool, evening air sweeping against his whiskers. He quickly smoothed out the fur standing on-end upon his arms. Now was no time to be cold.

Most of the pirates on-deck were gathered by the ship's starboard rail, so Tooley ran to join them. Finding a free spot near a lit fog lantern, he leaned over and felt a new chill course over him.

The entire side of the ship seemed as if it had somehow been whittled away. Broken halves of oars jutted out at awkward angles, and several chunks of wood in the hull had splintered in. Tooley looked to see if there had been a rock they had passed, but the fog around them was too thick to see much beyond the ocean just around them. It was almost as if some phantom had sheared the ship.

"Gather your wits and listen!" he heard a voice ring out over the deck, and all the pirates' heads snapped to attention. "I want bows and slings at the port, and swords and spears at the ready! We'll give them blood to pay on their return!"

A great cheer rose from the corsairs and Tooley felt the tightness in his chest lessen. The captain was safe at least-she'd know what to do.

The pirates scattered from the rail, heading to the armory to grab every weapon they could get their paws on. Tooley, meanwhile, took off and headed in the direction of the voice. He pushed past all the crewbeasts scrambling upon the deck, stopping when he saw Ciera and Chak engaged in a conversation.

"...can't win a fair fight, not in these conditions."

"Aye... so what be yer plan?"

"We're going to make it unfair. If we can't see through this fog, then neither can they. We can make it to the island, even with half our oars out, but I'll need you to take out their rudder."

Chak's heavy brow furrowed thoughtfully, then he nodded agreement. "Yarrr... I cain do that. But I be needin' somebeast ta watch o'er the slaves while I be o'erboard. Bloodeye be steppin' in afore – he cain-"

"No," Ciera cut him off, "I need every able-bodied beast on deck. I'll have someone lock them down 'til this is over. You're the most experienced diver we have and we can't waste another minute."

She paused and scanned the nearby crewbeasts. She glanced at Tooley, then pointed behind him. "Daggle!" she shouted, snapping her fingers.

Tooley felt movement at his side, and turned to see Daggle running up beside him. Daggle glanced his way, mouthing something with a questioning look before standing at-attention before Ciera. "Aye, captain?"

Ciera held a paw out to Chak. "Give me your key."

Chak hesitated, regarding the rat with the darkest glower Tooley had ever seen from the otter. Reluctantly, he drew the iron key from his neck and handed it to her.

"Thank you." Ciera turned and held the key out to Daggle. "Shackle the slaves. Tell them to be ready for anything, including rowing harder than they ever have." Daggle reached and tugged at the key, but the ferret's grip remained firm as she continued, "And whatever you do, don't lose this key. I'm sure Chak wouldn't mind chaining you up next to the other slaves."

Daggle's expression faltered. "Er, right. Ye kin count on me." He looked at Chak and smiled. "Don't ye worry yer whiskers, Chak. Not like th' Waverunners'll put th' slaves outta their misery, anyhow."

This did nothing to soften the otter's steely glare as Ciera shoved the rat. "Now get moving, both of you!"

Chak nodded wordlessly and took off while Daggle strode forward and grabbed Tooley's arm. "What're ye doin' up 'ere?" he hissed.

Tooley furrowed his brow at the claws wrapped around his arm. "I'm... 'elpin."

"This ain't th' place fer yer help, Tools. Y'should be back in th' hold, or-" Daggle broke off, noticing the captain directing a frosty glare his way.

"Curses alive..." he spat under his breath before pulling Tooley further back along the deck. "Look, if ye insist on stayin', at least take this." He reached at his side, drew the cutlass from his sheath, and held it out. "It'll do y'better than yer teeth and claws."

Tooley's eyes widened at the blade. He slowly reached for the hilt, then hesitated. "But... I ain't never been taught 'ow to use a blade..."

The rat ran a pair of claws along the bridge of his snout. "Fates, Daggle, what're y'doin'..." Quickly, he reached for Tooley's paw, shoving the hilt of the sword into it and closing the weasel's fingers around it. "Jus' take it, all right? Find a corner or somethin' to lay low in, an' please, don't do nothin' stupid."

Daggle hopped back and darted off across the deck without another word. Tooley watched the rat's form fade into the heavy fog, then his gaze turned to the sword. The basket guard felt awkward. It was too low, and cut against his knuckles, but there was a surprisingly comforting weight to it. He hefted the blade up experimentally, then tilted his head, watching red and gold lantern light dance across the blade's smooth surface.

For a moment, the bustle around the ship seemed to disappear into those colors, and there was silence. Tooley felt something. Something he had never felt before. He wasn't sure what the right word for it was, or if a word even existed, but in that moment between the weasel and the blade, there was a certain strength that welled up within him.

There was a shout, and the noise of the _Silver Maiden_ returned all at once. Tooley shook his head. He squinted at the steel blade, but the weapon was suddenly very normal to his mind. Almost hesitantly, he lowered it, then turned to see what the commotion was about.

There was someone running from the back of the boat, paws waving as they shouted something over and over. As they neared the captain, Tooley recognized the beast as the cook, Vera. His brows furrowed. Foxes were crafty beasts-they didn't _run_. They crept, and sneaked, and snuck, right? Interest thoroughly peaked, he ran to join the circle of crew gathering around the captain.

"Fire! Fire on deck!" Vera yelled, and the chattering on the ship faded as everyone's focus shifted to the fox.

Ciera stepped forward and held a paw out to to stop the fox. "What do you mean?"

Vera slowed down and stopped just in front of Ciera, eyes wide and breathing hard as she pointed behind herself. "The kitchen's on fire! Charcoal must have been loosed by the collision. I need help putting it out before it spreads!"

Ciera pushed past the fox, staring in the direction of the kitchen. Tooley looked as well and noticed a flickering, orange glow in the fog that was separate from the fog lights lit at the aft. Ciera spun around and paced away from Vera, sucking in a breath and raking her claws across her head.

Tooley's eyes brightened, and he stood a little straighter. "Don't worry 'bout it, cap'n! I'll put 'er out!"

He didn't wait for a response as he sped off along the deck towards the kitchen. The smell of burning wood began to overpower the salty sting of evening air, and even still at a distance he could see smoke steaming out of the half-opened door. He hit the door running and shoved it open, then quickly stumbled back and winced as a wave of heat blew across his fur.

Squinting at the sudden brightness, he looked to see where the heart of the fire was, and quickly lost count of the numerous, charred chunks of coal scattered about the kitchen floor. An entire half of the kitchen was currently burning, and in just a few seconds of standing there, Tooley watched the fire climb up along one of the cabinets and start to lick hungrily at the ceiling.

Tooley drew in a breath. He was going to need a lot of water.

Hopping into a run, he dashed towards the starboard edge and snatched up a bucket that had been left on deck. He caught himself against the railing, pausing as he stared over the edge at the dark sea water below. The water was too far down. He'd need something to lower the bucket.

"Tooley!"

He looked over his shoulder to see Vera and four other pirates rushing to meet him. One of them drew something from his shoulder and lobbed it towards Tooley. A length of rope splattered at the weasel's feet. He set Daggle's sword aside and hurried to secure the rope to the bucket. With a satisfied tug at a knot, Tooley tossed the bucket over the railing. Seconds later, he was pulling at the rope. The other pirates arrived at the railing just as he grabbed the filled bucket and started off for the kitchen.

There was movement in the fog off the port, and he looked just in time to see the other ship.

There was a shout from the deck, then the floor once more was ripped from beneath Tooley's feet. He only had time to curl before crashing upon the deck. He was aware of three things: the sting of saltwater in his eyes, the deck vibrating once more, and the sound of a great splintering of wood, cracking like thunder upon the ship.

When the shaking finally subsided with a groan, a new sound reached Tooley's ears-clashes of steel. He lifted up his head from a puddle of water and pawed at his eyes, blinking away the stinging fog. As soon as his vision cleared, he saw that a cluster of beasts were pouring onto the deck, hopping down from a much larger ship that had lodged itself in the _Maiden's_ side. There were flashes of metal, and the barking orders of the newcomers and corsairs alike quickly filled the air. Tooley noticed a much larger form - a beast bigger than Tooley had ever seen - in the front of the charge, a massive blade cutting through swaths of the corsairs as if they were nothing more than paper.

"Th' wavescum's boardin' us!" sputtered one of the pirates behind Tooley, drawing his attention back to the fire.

"Let's give 'em th' Gates t' show fer it!" A stoat darted past Tooley and drew his cutlass in a smooth motion. Two of the other pirates shouted their agreements, rushing off to join the fight. Tooley glanced at the cutlass he had set down, wondering if he was meant to join them.

"Where are you going?!" Vera hollered. "I need you here!"

Tooley looked back at the vixen, catching the mixture of rage and distress in her eyes as she slammed a paw against the deck. She was right. He was needed here. The captain was trusting him to do a job, and he wouldn't let her down.

Tooley gripped the rim of his now-empty bucket and hopped to his feet, reaching a paw down to Vera. "C'mon! We got work t' do!"

Vera stared at him for a moment, then nodded and gripped his paw.

The two of them, along with the one pirate who remained, filled their buckets and started upon the fire. Once, twice, thrice they hurried to the kitchen and back, dousing sections at a time as the battle on the deck continued.

Tooley lost count of how many times they had repeated the process, and as he tossed water upon a solitary patch of flames at the edge of a table, he hesitated. The fire had been cleared from the center of the kitchen, turned the room into a steaming, blackened mess, but the flames had already spread to the roof, which burned bright upon the ship.

There was a shrill whistling, followed suddenly by arrows splattering down upon the deck. Tooley winced and curled with his paws slapped over his head. No pain came, though just several paces away he heard Vera shriek. He looked up just in time to see her staggering up onto her feet, staring at the weasel who had been helping them. An arrow jutted out from his chest, and he was sprawled out, lifeless on the deck.

Biting his lip, Tooley's looked up from the dead ferret to the rigging above the kitchen roof. The fire was spreading too fast. It was too fast for three of them to deal with, and now with only two...

He looked back at where the battle was still raging. It was too far to see who was winning, but the massive beast he had seen before was still shoving his way through the swarm of fighters around him. Tooley shuddered and felt his chest tighten. Something told him that the pirates were not faring well.

Tooley paused as he caught sight of someone maneuvering alongside the edge of the battle, hunkered low so as to not attract attention. The knot in Tooley's stomach loosened as soon as he saw the blue, wide-brimmed hat, and he started off across the deck.

Vasily would know what to do. He'd help make everything right, Tooley was sure of it.

He shouted for the cat, but his voice was lost in the din of beasts and steel, over which no sound could be discerned. Except for one, just to his left.

"Eulalia!"

He caught sight of the blade just in time to duck. There was a whiff above his head as he stumbled forward, his momentum carrying him flat onto his stomach. He grunted and rose with a paw clutched at his chest, then turned to see a hare wielding a large cutlass-looking sword.

"Harrumph, no weapon on ye," the hare tutted, shaking his head. "My mistake, old chap! Can't make this unfair, now, can we?"

The hare searched the deck, spotting Daggle's cutlass several steps away. He hopped over to it and kicked the handle so that the blade skidded across the deck. Tooley drew a paw up as the sword stopped just a hair from him.

"Ah, there we are!" The hare brightened, bouncing up and down excitedly. "Now up an' at em! This'll be a right rippin' old battle for the jolly songwriters, wot?"

Tooley blinked at the hare. He had a bloody gash at his side that he was favoring, yet he was... smiling? He couldn't possibly think this was a game, or were all woodlanders this... _bizarre_?

Tooley's first instinct was to make a run for it, but something caught his attention. The fire on the kitchen roof had grown, and in the dark Tooley could see that the flames were already dangerously close to the rigging above. He looked back at the hare, and he took a deep breath as he grabbed the hilt of the sword beside him.

He still had a job to do.

Tooley's heart pounded as he dug his feet into the deck beneath, and he tried to stop his teeth from chattering. The hare was still grinning, but his gaze hardened as he prepped for the inevitable clash. Tooley breathed hard, wishing for a sudden memory of intensive sword training to come flooding into his mind. None came, so he leapt.

His first swing wildly missed the hare and the weight of the sword sent him spinning off-balance.

"Easy there, old sort!" the hare chided, his blade catching Tooley's and stopping it from spinning in a circle. "Now again, with less, err, gusto!"

Frowning, Tooley stepped forward and sliced down. He felt a vibration course through his arms as the hare blocked it crosswise and thrust down. His head exposed to his enemy's weapon, Tooley yelped and curled his arms up as the hare swatted. There was a metallic clang, and the hare cheered.

"Now you're gettin' it! By jove, you'll turn into a boomin' proper fighter yet, m' old weasel!"

Tooley growled and went at the hare again.

"Good parry, but a bally poor advance," the hare continued as the blades crashed against each other. "Careful with your fades, mate, and stop bein' so flippin' aggressive!"

"Shuddup!" Tooley shouted, pulling back for a heavy swing at the hare.

The hare dodged back and Tooley's strike went wide. Suddenly, Tooley felt his wrist twist painfully and the cutlass rip away. He gasped in shock and fell back onto his tail with a grimace. Rubbing his wrist tenderly, he looked up.

The hare was staring at the weasel, and his smile had disappeared. His sword was loosely held at his side, not quite pointing at Tooley.

"Hmm... I say," the hare muttered under his breath. He almost sounded disappointed. "Er... well, I suppose that's the blinkin' end o' that, wot... lesson's over."

Tooley stood frozen, staring wide eyed as the blade wavered and straightened towards his neck. He wanted to scream, to turn and run and get up and do _something_ , but all his strength seemed to seep into the deck below.

There was an abrupt, loud thwack, then the hare's head jerked to the side. His eyes rolled up and he crumpled not a paw's reach away from Tooley. Tooley's chest heaved as he stared at the hare, waiting for him to jump up and finish the job at any moment.

"Looked like you needed the help," came Vera's voice.

Tooley turned to see Vera's paw outstretched for him, and he let out a heavy sigh. His gaze followed her arm up to her grinning face. Then continued upwards. The deck suddenly grew cold around him, and a chill spread up along his arms and into his chest. It coursed through him until he felt a scream rising through his throat.

The sails behind Vera were alight, quivering as flames ripped up along them and left only ashen remains to sail upon the air.

Tooley slammed his head down into his paws, which soon threaded over his face and onto his head, where he dug his claws. Something grabbed at him. He jerked away. It tried again, this time pulling at him, and he shoved a paw out to get the thing away.

The captain had needed him. For once, he had really been _needed_. And he had failed.


	16. The House is on Fire

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **The House is on Fire**

 _by: Vera_

* * *

As pirates and Waverunners fought across the _Silver Maiden's_ deck, Vera threw another bucket of salt water on the flames licking around the galley. How long had she been trapped in this endless, hellish repeat? Across slippery deck on sore paws. Bucket over the side, then drug back, paw over paw. Arms burning and trembling from the strain. Salt water sloshed over paw and fur, stinging the cuts and blisters. Back across the deck to the galley. Over and over and over again.

Tooley and one other pirate fought this losing battle with her. She had hoped they would get the fire out before it spread, but when the huge Waverunner's ship had rammed them again, it scattered burning debris all over the deck. Though the fire in the galley had been almost extinguished, now it was creeping up the rigging and mast.

A volley of arrows hailed around them. Vera screamed and fell. Her bucket sloshed water uselessly across the deck. Her silver ruby amulet, still safely nestled in the underside pocket of her apron, dug painfully into her belly. Nearby, a ferret who'd been less lucky cried out as an arrow took him. Drawing a sobbing breath, Vera staggered back upright and ran to the rail once more.

Back to the fire she ran, but out of the corner of her eye, Vera saw a hare break through the pirate ranks. The hare, sword in paw, saw her as the next foe. So she swung the full bucket and let the rope slide through her claws. The hare tried to block with the sword, but the momentum staggered him before the bucket's contents drenched him. Vera used the diversion to duck through the open door of the smoldering galley. The hare either didn't see her, or decided the smoldering room would finish her off just as well.

The roof to the galley had caught, but the room's floor was just a soggy, steaming, blackened mess of biscuits, charcoal, and sea water. She ducked low under the smoke. _Weapon. Weapon. Weapon._ Her sore paws scrabbled through the mess, searching for anything she could use. Wooden spoons. Cast iron skillet. Rolling pin. Clay mixing bowl. Crab mallet.

Knife! She found her knife! Her paw closed around that and then she spotted the huge iron cookpot, still hanging from it's chain from the heaviest beam in the galley.

Still full of boiling hot, thick stew.

She tucked the crab mallet and knife into her apron strings and ran to the wall where there hung the pot's wheeled trolley. Every time she'd used the cookpot during this voyage, she had used the metal trolley to get it out on deck to keep the crew from traipsing through the galley and making a mess.

Hacking from the smoke, which was growing thicker as the fire started spreading again, she hauled the trolley down and shoved it over to the pot. Vera scampered on all fours to the spot where the pot's chain attached to the wall. A quick touch and she pulled back a burned paw with a hiss. Then, using the corners of her apron, she grabbed it, unhooked it, and maneuvered the pot onto the trolley. The pot dropped and listed sideways, but stayed in the frame. Crouching down, she ran out the door.

She tried to aim it for the railing side of the _Silver Maiden_ where the Waverunners were coming over. "Have some soup!" she shrieked and gave the pot's trolley a good hard push, sending it careening madly across the deck. The hot pot crashed through three hares, a squirrel, and two otters before it toppled sideways and another two hares screamed as the pirate crew's hot supper sloshed over them.

Wheezing, she ran back to the galley and ducked inside. She peeped around the doorway and surveyed the scene before her. Blood and gore littered the planks. Dead and dying tripped up the living. Those who fought on moved eerily in the flickering firelight. Above them all towered a badger in full plate who dealt out death with a broadsword.

 _I should have just gone home!_ A little voice whimpered in Vera's head. Too late for doubts now.

Then she spotted Tooley fighting with a hare. Tooley had a cutlass and she stared as it clashed with the hare's fancier looking cutlass. For a moment, she felt a bit of awe. _I didn't know that little weasel had it in him._ His bravado steeled her.

Then Tooley lost his grip on his cutlass and fell hard to his rump. He looked up at the hare and his eyes went as big as the biscuits she'd so carefully baked that afternoon. The hare stood over him with his sword held at his side. Any second now, he'd finish Tooley off.

 _He's dead. Unless..._

Vera plucked the hefty crab mallet from her apron, ran the short distance, and clobbered the hare on the back of the head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Looked like you needed help," she said and held out a paw to help Tooley up. As he looked up at her, pure horror overtook his face. His eyes widened and he clutched his tattered, patched hat to his head with a scream. Vera whirled around. She raised her crab mallet against whatever foe suddenly struck such terror into the weasel.

No foe stood behind her. Rather, she looked up at the _Silver Maiden's_ sails. They were burning.

 _The oars are gone. The sails are gone. We're dead in the water. Fire above and fighting on all sides. Time to go!_

She reached out to grab Tooley. "The ship's lost! We've got to get out of here!" He pulled away from her. "Tooley!" She grabbed an arm and tried to drag him with her. "Come on!"

He shoved her away and as he did so, an arrow thudded next to them. Vera yelped, but Tooley gave no sign that he noticed. He crouched down, lacing his paws behind his head and clinging to that ridiculous hat of his.

"Some dread pirate you are! You're on your own then!" she screamed and in case more arrows were coming, she grabbed the unconscious hare and hoisted him up in front of her to use as a shield.

"Oy! Vera!"

She looked up to see Vasily coming across the deck. The wildcat looked a little worse for wear, but at least he wasn't oblivious like Tooley. "You know how to get those life boats down, right?" she asked.

Instead of responding, he stared at Tooley. "What in 'Gates name happened to him?"

"I don't know. As soon as the sails went up his eyes just glazed over."

"What should we do with him?"

Vera stared, but only for a moment. _Doesn't this cat have any sense of self-preservation?_ "Leave him!"

Vasily opened his mouth as if to say something. He closed it. Then he said, "We… we could carry him, right?"

Vera shifted her grip on the unconscious hare so she had an arm under his armpits and across his narrow chest. "Carry him if you want, but I'm getting out of here!" She began working her way towards the railing and away from the fighting. Vasily hesitated before getting behind her. When several Waverunners turned as if to engage them, Vera held her kitchen knife to the hare's throat. They wavered then.

Behind them, the massive badger that Vera had spotted earlier hacked his way through pirate and woodlander alike. Some of those woodlanders now looked behind as well as before, torn in spirit between aiding a fallen comrade and defending against an even more deadly threat.

In the end, their own desire for self-preservation prevailed and they let Vera, Vasily, and their hostage pass. As they walked with their backs to the rail, Vasily clung to her like a sticky potato peel. _If I didn't need him to lower the boat, I'd leave him behind, too!_


	17. Friends

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Friends**

 _By: Gordon_

* * *

Atlas Stormstripe, his worst enemy, was about to kill his only friend.

Mr. Rosequill, the Navigator, held Gordon tightly as he flailed, pulled, pushed, kicked, and screamed. His body moved and twisted without thinking, trying to escape the hedgehog's grasp as though he was caught in a trap. The bell was ringing to indicate an enemy vessel: CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink. CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink. CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink.

Plink. Plink. Plink. He had to save Plink.

Fildering Dillwithers ran past him, preoccupied. He was followed by a dozen or so other hares: he recognized Quirry and Twilbee, Barak and Berek, an otter named Drandy, and Lieutenant Killian Wrightbones. All of them were armed. All of them were getting ready for battle. Fildering shouted something at Quirry and Twilbee. They picked up Plink and ran her towards the corridor, out of Atlas's sight. She was safe. He had protected her.

Mr. Rosequill loosened his grip slightly. Gordon screamed again, words pouring out of his mouth that didn't make any sense. His heart was racing and he could barely breathe fast enough to keep up with it. The Navigator spoke firmly, "Calm down now, lad, don' you be worryin'. The lass'll be fine now."

Plink. Plink. Plink was still alive!

Mr. Rosequill turned Gordon around, so that his face was pressed up against him, so that he couldn't help but look him in the eyes.

"Scully, me boy, I'm gonna need you to stop tusslin' with me about this. Beasts are gonna be fightin' soon, and it ain' no place for a young lad like you to be."

Plink. Where was Plink?

Mr. Rosequill took his paw and began walking swiftly towards his cabin, pulling Gordon so that his legs were forced to move along behind him. He stopped resisting, but did not calm down.

Plink.

* * *

Old Hriston, the retired general, opened his cabin door to greet them.

"Ahoy, ahoy! A mighty Long Patrolman and his hedgehog servant, just in time for midday tea! Come on in, an' jolly good seein' ya' both! I've got fresh cookies!"

"Watch him, friend," said Mr. Rosequill, pushing Gordon into the cabin. "Keep him safe." It was not clear which of the two of them he was addressing.

Mr. Rosequill closed the door as he left, slightly muffling the sounds of shouting and clanking metal outside. Gordon could feel the ship turning, and he struggled to keep his balance.

He stared at Hriston, his fur white and grey with many bare patches, his nails thick and the cataracts visible in his eyes. His aging body limped back from the door to take a seat on his plush, red-upholstered sofa. The arms were hand carved to look like young female hares in springtime. Beneath it was a worn and faded rug, which at one time bore the image of a hare soldier.

Gordon's rapid breathing began to subside. He was safe. The fighting outside would not hurt him. He did not have to be a hero. He didn't have to choose whether to be a Waverunner or a pirate today. He accepted one of the stale cookies from the tin Hriston held out to him.

"Ahoy then! So, how long have ya' been in the Long Patrol, eh, sergeant?"

Gordon shrugged his shoulders and tried to focus on the cookie. He accepted a cup of hot tea. His mind was empty. A floating leaf of mint in his tea held him in a trance.

Hriston drooled slightly as he chewed. "An' which weapon do ya' carry? Sword, eh?"

Gordon shook his head.

"Spear? Pike, eh? Mace, may 'haps? Naw, not an axe?" The old general had walls covered in weaponry and armor of all sorts.

Gordon shook his head.

"A-har, I see, I see… yer a longbowbeast, then?"

Gordon decided to play along. He had used a bow before, and was not entirely terrible with it.

"Uh… yes, sir."

"Jolly good! Jolly good, har-har! I say! I knew many a brave soldier who did bear the longbow in my day. In fact, at the battle of Falling Bridge I assigned the longbows to the front lines, not the rear. This was the most in-gen-i-us of moves, if I must say so m'self! Took the curs't enemy totally by surprise, it did…"

He nodded and tried to show interest. Hriston continued lecturing on military tactics. Gordon felt lost and confused, like he had forgotten something important, but couldn't remember what.

"… which brings me to the battle of the Cheeky Plain. Ya have 'eard of the Cheek-ot-syn Plain, haven't ya', lad? The one where we crushed the curs't rebels once and fr' all? They haven't dropped that one out of the history books now yet, eh?"

Gordon nodded again. The name did sound familiar, though he knew it wasn't from anything Brother Sage had taught him. He felt his cheeks. They were wet. He realized that he must have been crying earlier.

"Oh, jolly good, jolly good." Hriston pulled out a bottle from between the sofa cushions. He took a sip and then handed it to Gordon. "The next story deserves a strong drink."

Gordon accepted, but he sputtered slightly as he drank it – the dark crimson herbal cordial burned as it went down his throat. It smelled like the alley behind the tavern back home. He heard a shout outside.

Hriston continued. "Now, when I was only a Major, I had a young lad like you under my command who carried a longbow. We were trapped with our backs to the lake, just fifty or so of us, and the plain was chock full of the smarmy rebels far as the eye could see…."

Gordon heard the noise of the bell ringing again. CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink. More shouting from the deck. The ship ceased turning and he felt that now it was set on a straight course. He felt sick. CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink.

"… an' this scrawny young lad runs out in front, an' he aims his bow at the rebel leader himself – aye, old Scarknuckle himself – and he takes one shot. And you know where it hits?"

"In the heart?" Gordon asked. He remembered the story now.

"No! No! Har-har-har, that's jus' what we told everybody afterwards. Har-har-har. Naw. He misses, completely. By a full yard 'tleast."

Gordon looked at the drunk general, confused. He could feel the ship picking up speed.

"But ol' Scarknuckle, the fool, goes over and picks up the arrow head with his bare paws, an' he lifts it up and shouts at us, and he says is this the best you got? And then he keels over, cold and dead, in an instant."

Gordon stood up. He stared at Hriston intently, thoughts racing. The story had changed. Everything had changed.

"And the rebels, they just run away, 'afrighted for their lives like some ghostly magic be about. I remember this clear as day. An' I ask the lad, 'Ahoy! How'd you manage that, private Higglethighs?' "

"Hagglethrump," Gordon corrected him, offended.

"What?"

RAM. THUD. The ship jerked to a sudden halt, flinging both Gordon and Hriston out of their seats. Furniture crashed backwards into the cabin wall; the sofa overturned. The armor and weaponry fell off of the walls. They flew across the room, as did the cookies.

Gordon lifted himself off the floor and took a survey of the damage. The bottle of cordial was spilling over the rug and stained it red. The old general was unconscious.

Gordon felt his pockets. He still had his blade, the scent stolen from Merrius, and his vial of concentrated hemlock, a poison that could be absorbed through the skin. His father wasn't a hero because he was a skilled soldier. He was a hero because he was sneaky and smart.

He had to save Plink.

Gordon grabbed a pillow and laid it beneath the old general's head. He grabbed a bow and quiver, and snatched an antique uniform as he ran out the door.

* * *

Gordon formulated several brilliant plans in his mind to rescue Plink in the twenty seconds it took him to get down the stairs to the brig. He ran down the stairs so quickly that he would have missed her if she hadn't grabbed him on her way up.

"Scully, matey!"

"Plink!"

He was overjoyed, and struggled not to cry in front of her.

"Don't ye worry none, they be locked up safe," she said. He heard shouts coming intermittently from Quirry and Twilbee at the foot of the stairs.

"Uh… how'd you… do…"

"Ne'er been better! How d'you do, yerself?"

"Um, I brought… a uniform." He handed her a uniform large enough for a full grown hare. The ship turned drastically, so that the uniform fell into her paws, rather than a graceful hand-off. He stumbled back to his feet.

"An' I'll be needin' this 'cause…"

"So, they're attacking a pirate ship. Everyone's in battle mode, so they don't remember faces. So, put it on and we'll blend in. Then when we reach the ship, we can, uh… cross over and join the pirates."

She paused, taken aback, and looked at him in disbelief. He could hear in her breathing the echoes of absolute terror. Then, her face regained its confident composure.

"Yar! I like what ye be thinkin'… but… maybe later." She handed the oversized uniform back to him.

Just then, they heard a voice coming down the stairs from the deck.

"Quick!" Gordon pulled her aside into a small room, which he unlocked with a key. It was the larder. He locked the door behind them, and lit a small candle. They hid behind a barrel of chestnuts and Plink blew out the light.

* * *

Although they were only in the larder in the dark for a few minutes, the minutes stretched on and felt like hours. They felt the ship turning sharply and tossing from side to side, and it was difficult not to become nauseated. They heard Quirry and Twilbee freed from the brig and head up the stairs. They heard someone shouting incredulously, "ram them a second time?" They sat in the dark together daring not to make a noise. No one went into the larder to prepare for a battle.

Timing was essential. They didn't want to reach the deck too soon, or else they would be exposed. But they didn't want to reach the deck too late, or else they wouldn't blend in with the mass of soldiers boarding the pirates' vessel. They wanted to be on the deck the moment the ship hit the second time.

Gordon tried to figure out what Plink must be thinking, but he couldn't. He did notice that she started breathing at the same rate he was, in tune with him. Maybe that meant they were friends.

Gordon felt the ship stop turning and straighten out again, and begin to pick up speed. He knew what came next. CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink. CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink. CLANG-CLANG Clink-Clink-Clink.

"It's time," he whispered.

"Where to?"

"Deck."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Infirmary," she whispered, and started moving up to the ceiling, removing one of the panels above. He followed her.

Plink knew her way around the innards of the ship, and, although the crawl-spaces were quite tight, she reached a loose floorboard. He recognized the floorboard from the time they had first met. Plink crawled in, and lowered a hand to help Gordon up.

Above him, he heard a door open, and then a voice. It was Crue, the healer. Plink pulled him up, to face the stern gaze of the red squirrel. He instantly felt embarrassed, sort of like if his mother had caught him stealing and sneaking out of the house. Then, realizing he had been caught with Plink, he became afraid.

For reasons he couldn't understand, Crue didn't sound the alarm or shout for help. At first, she just stood there, staring, then her gaze softened and she told them to wait. Moments later, to Gordon's surprise, they were ushered out onto the deck.

RAM. THUD. The _Zephyr_ struck its target.

* * *

"Eulaliaaaaaa! Eulaliaaaaaa!"

The shouting of the Waverunner horde was followed by a stomping that shook the entire ship, as the mass of soldiers flooded onto the pirate ship and began boarding it. He and Plink ran alongside them – everyone was blinded to them in the chaos. The air was thick with smoke, and _The Silver Maiden_ , as it was called, appeared to be on fire.

Several volleys of arrows landed amid them, but the only thing he could think to do was run faster. He stepped over the body of Barak. They had shared breakfast in the mess hall only that morning. Now, he was dead, an arrow through his chest. Gordon's stomach turned. He felt sick. He wanted to vomit. He ran faster.

They approached the edge of the ship, where ropes were being tied to the _Silver Maiden_ to keep it steady.

This was it.

Plink tugged on him, and Gordon pulled back with her. They watched from the edge, ducking behind a crate for safety.

No, not yet.

The first wave from the _Zephyr_ bravely ran ahead and boarded. The scene was carnage – beasts fighting, killing, and dying. Many fell into the sea while crossing between the two ships. Pirate arrows missed and hit pirates, and goodbeast swords struck goodbeasts by mistake.

Then, Gordon saw the figure of Merrius aboard the _Maiden_. A stoat came up behind him, pulled out a dagger, and slit his throat. Then, he tossed the hedgehog's body into the ocean as though it were rubbish. Gordon felt a flood of anger. How could the pirates do this to Merrius? Sweet, kind, innocent Merrius. They didn't even know him.

A second wave boarded, and then a third, bringing more slaughter. On the whole the pirates were a disorganized mess, and the Waverunners, who vastly outnumbered them, were clearly headed for victory. Gordon could make out the form of Atlas, on board the _Maiden_.

This was it.

He understood the look Plink had given him earlier. Why were they plunging into death? Why not stay aboard the ship, which seemed entirely safe? Why not just imagine that they had crossed over, pretend, play… why join a lost cause?

He looked at Plink. They both winced as they heard a loud scream.

No, not yet.

"Look matey… ye don't have to go."

He ignored her, however, because his eyes were fixed on a young hare on the deck of the Silver Maiden, fighting a weasel. A fox then walked up behind him, with a giant mallet, and knocked him unconscious. He recognized the hare. It was Fildering Dillwithers. His friend.

Rage filled him. He ran as fast as a hare could, and leaped as far as a hare could, and he landed aboard the _Silver Maiden_ , Plink right behind him. He pulled out his bow, fitted an arrow into it, and plunged into battle. He was fighting for every side – for his friends.


	18. A Lesson in Reality

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **A Lesson in Reality**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

"Salt and salve, where'd that mad badger learn to sail this vessel!" Crue shouted after the __Zephyr__ was suddenly pitched to the side and she was knocked to the ground. Fortunately, nothing sharp had been in the way to break her fall and she only lightly bruised her right knee when she hit the deck. Adjusting the white bandana across her brow she growled, "Best pray none of my tonics broke!"

Considering the possibility that someone had been injured in the impact, she slung her emergency kit over her shoulder and left to check if anyone above deck required her immediate attention. As she headed toward the deck, her steps were punctuated by the sounds of the timbers popping. Accompanying that noise was a shouting match that was taking place between the crews of the two vessels. She watched as the hares and otters and other steel-wielding sorts threw down both curses and arrows upon their enemy while they received the same in kind.

"Volley!" several shouted and those on the deck took cover from the slough of arrows and stones heading toward them.

From the relative safety of the stairway, she peered up toward the helm. Atlas Stormstripe surveyed the scene with a cold, bloodthirsty stare, and if Crue had to guess as to why the Badgerlord still stood by the helm instead of rushing into battle, it was only the idea of hitting the ocean instead of the ship that kept him there. His sword was half-lifted in anticipation of the wrath he would unleash, which was the squirrel maid's cue to return to her sanctuary.

She saw no immediate casualties and ran back toward the infirmary. The injured would likely be brought to her when the real fighting started.

As soon as she entered the door, she was greeted with the sight of two young beasts close to her bed. Crue immediately recognized Plink, who was helping Scully through an open square in the floor. The cabin boy gasped when he saw Crue staring at them, causing Plink to drop his paw and turn.

Plink's eyes were wide and fearful. Crue froze, recalling the same expression from earlier, when Atlas was moments from taking her life…. She recalled a memory of her sister who had that same expression before she died, that same fear of death… A sister whose favorite game had been taking and hiding Crue's toys and books and shoes… Who had not been much younger than the wisp of a beast before her… Who had been sentenced to death without just cause…

Plink slunk against the bed until only her eyes and ears were still visible. "Please, miss," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just let me go. I just want to go."

For a brief moment, Crue's eyes narrowed as she recalled the the sense of betrayal that Plink had perpetuated. The sleep she lost to anxiety and dismay, the lack of trust she had for her crew mates, the fear that someone might be poisoned and it would be her fault for providing the means… Just as quickly, those harsh feelings began to fade. Somehow, with the __Zephyr__ facing dangers from both within and without, it didn't seem to matter as much. When the battle ended, Atlas would still come to claim a vengeance he didn't merit, to mete out a punishment that was undeserved. If that came to pass, some of that blood would be on Crue's head.

She lifted her paw to shush them. She turned in the doorway and looked out to see if anyone was nearby. A couple of hares were running in her direction and she turned to whisper to the two, "Stay back!"

She didn't check to see if her order was followed, turning back to watch the two goodbeasts pass by without even glancing in her direction. "Go now," she ordered once she was relatively certain it was safe. When she looked back, the two were replacing the loose floorboard. "I'll get those. Get out of here, and don't you dare be seen!"

The two did as she directed, springing out of the room and down the corridor. She hastily replaced the floorboard as she thought about what the future would hold. The rat would likely not survive the next few hours. Be it by battle or badger, Plink would probably be killed, and Crue suddenly found herself saddened by the thought. Whatever the youth had done, there was seasons enough to turn her life around, to have that second chance to atone for the wrongs she'd done.

On the other hand, Plink had not offered a word of thanks in her rush to escape….

She had just begun to wonder what Scully was doing with the convict when the ship was rocked by an even stronger impact. Her ears were filled with the sound of thunder as her body was thrown roughly against one of the beds, bruising her left side before she fell to the ground. Her claws reached up and grasped the bed frame, determined to keep herself from being tossed any further. Once the ship ceased its moving, Crue gingerly stood up, glad none of her ribs had been cracked.

She checked her stores to make sure nothing was broken, and during the process a small group of beasts entered the room. Two otters carried a brown squirrel between them and set the smaller beast on one of the beds. Another bed was soon occupied by a shrew who clutched his head in pain, brought in by a pair of older hedgehogs.

"What's going on out there?" she asked before she went to pour some water onto a cloth for the shrew's head. The squirrel's leg was a less pressing matter.

"Cap'n rammed the vermin!" one of the otters replied.

"Twice, didn't he?"

"An' got us bloomin' stuck this time! Ain' movin' either vessel 'til the battle's o'er."

Crue noticed that a few details were missing from the story. "The fighting's started already?"

The otter laughed. "Yes, ma'am. An' it won' be a fair fight, neither, not with our crazed Captain an' tha' ruddy huge sword o'is!"

With Atlas leading the charge, Crue realized that the crew aboard the __Zephyr__ would be safer than those doing the real fighting and her talents would be needed on the other ship. Before anybeast could leave the room she stated, "I will be needed there, but I need someone to look after these two. Are any of you capable of doing so or know who is?"

One of the hedgehogs replied, "We're not as learned as you, Miss, but me 'n me friend 'ere 'as seen our fair share o' mates battered n' bruised in the past. Jus' tell us what t' do an' we'll keep 'em as patched up as we can."

Crue pulled out all the supplies that her stand-in would likely need. She wrapped the shrew's head in the cool cloth, instructing that it be changed once it grew warm. Then, with the otters to hold her other patient still, she set the broken bone and wrapped it tight in a splint. With that taken care of, she again slung her emergency kit over her shoulder and nabbed a small chest of supplies she had prepared for just such an occasion.

"Remember, don't let him sleep until I get get back!" she instructed as she followed the otters out of the room. They headed up to the main deck and rushed to the bow of the ship, quickly crossing the makeshift ramp down to the pirate vessel. Her nose was assaulted with the stench of blood that only grew stronger the farther along the deck she went, and she had to step carefully at times to keep from slipping.

The healer set about her task diligently, calling for the wounded who could be moved to be brought to her while those soldiers still fighting nearby kept her safe. Her first patient, a hare with a gash along his shoulder, howled piteously as one of his comrades seated him before her. With a couple of precise cuts, she removed the sleeve and poured a small bit of powdered Mother's Heart over the wound to help staunch the bleeding. After threading one of her small needles, she drew twelve stitches across the wound, just enough to keep it closed for now.

Slapping a bandage over it for the time being, she turned to the nearest soldier and ordered, "Take him back to the infirmary and tell the boys to finish closing him up! And send stretchers and beasts to carry them!"

A few more beasts showed up, one sporting nasty cuts along his legs, one suffering from a shattered shoulder, and another knocked senseless. Another patient was brought to her, then another, and as the wounded continued to grow in number, the number Crue could adequately attend to grew less and less. Instead of wasting time closing wounds, she wrapped tourniquets around the affected limbs when possible, and shoved styptic herbs and bandages onto the rest. She sent orders with the stretcher bearers when she could, and eventually even that became rare as she fixated on those left in her care aboard the pirate ship.

She began to develop some difficulty seeing with the sun beginning to slip below the horizon. To add to her consternation, she had a difficult time staying in one place to assist her patients. Some of the pirates employed their slings with deadly force and she moved around to keep from making an easy target, three times nearly tripping over the body of a dead pirate. Unfortunately more than one beast was struck by a stone in her defense. While she grew increasingly worried about the beasts she could or couldn't help, one of the hare soldiers fell to the ground near her feet, eyes vacant and a small pool of blood leaking from a crack in her head. Her resolve began to crack.

 _ _Too much!__ her mind cried out. __I can't keep up!... So many wounded…__ She looked upon the body of a slain weasel upon the deck. __So many dead….__

 _ _I need to relax and just do what I can.__ She took a cleansing breath and gave a mouse a tonic to dull the pain before sending her along with the rest of the wounded.

 _ _I can't save everyone…__ Her footpaw slipped on a patch of gore as she headed toward a new patient.

 _ _...but I can't save enough.__ Her paws felt wet and sticky as she reached into her trunk for more mother's heart. It would be easier for her if someone lit a lantern or two so she could see what she was doing.

Time marched on, though Crue was not mindful of its passing as she worked. It didn't immediately register to her that the sound of clashing steel had lessened, but she did hear a voice roar through the din: "YOU ARE HEREBY RELIEVED OF ALL SERVICES TO THE WAVERUNNERS, SWIFTPAW!"

Crue stood up and turned toward the speaker and was able to make out the clearly visible Badgerlord, his once gleaming armor now scratched and stained by combat. Atlas was in the center of a wide ring of empty space, neither Waverunner nor pirate standing anywhere close by if they could help it. She sought to get a better look, moving closer until she could see a figure crumpled against the mast. Squinting at the shadowed figure, she finally discovered Frederick Swiftpaw sprawled on the deck. Blood dribbled from his mouth while he struggled vainly to rise. His commanding officer glared mercilessly through his devilish eye.

The healer cried out at the sight of the Colonel's helpless state. She took a step toward Frederick, wondering if she could possibly keep him alive. She didn't think of Atlas or the pirates or of the wounded she was leaving behind. This beast had to live… she had to at least be able to save __him__.


	19. The Good Fight

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **The Good Fight**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

Robert closed the door to Old Hriston's cabin, leaving the much older hare in charge of Scully's safety during Atlas's barbaric crusade for pirate blood.

 _As much as I like the lad, Hriston's not got much else to do but dibbunsit._

As Robert walked down the hallway below deck, the claustrophobic atmosphere started getting to the sailor, pressing into Robert from all around with each step he took. The wood paneled walls blurred in on themselves, creating a dizzying stretch of room that Robert was beginning to struggle down. The walls felt like they were closing in on the hedgehog, choking him and filling his lungs with its stuffiness.

"I need some air. . ." Robert gasped to himself.

The hedgehog stumbled across the planks, paws on the walls to steady his footpaws. Robert raced to his quarters, trying his hardest not to bump into the soldiers rushing upwards to the main deck. The sailor wrenched open his door and kicked aside various instruments in a mad dash to his porthole on the far side of his cabin. The hedgehog swung it open and shoved his snout out into the night, breathing in the outside and letting the smells and the cool air flood over him like a crashing wave.

 _What crazy mess are we about to get into 'cause of you, Atlas?_ Robert thought. _You're sending beasts to die against these pirates for no reason. We could have jus' sailed around 'em, no fuss. The Zephyr be fast enough._ The hedgehog sighed. _At least this way that lil' ratmaid be fine for now._

 _That Atlas done lost his bloomin' senses, goin' to kill that poor lil' ratmaid,_ Robert growled to himself, thinking back to the young rat's near brush with death. _Ain't nothin' she do wrong 'cept steal a bit o' grub. That ain't no crime worth'n an execution._ Robert grunted, realization striking. _Our Lord Atlas needs to be taken down a peg. Afore anybeast else gets caught up in that badger's madness._

These mutinous thoughts muddled his brain for the longest time, until suddenly the entire ship rattled and shook. The Zephyr had struck the oncoming pirate vessel again.

The collision left Robert sprawled out on the floor of his room. As the hedgehog struggled to his footpaws he heard shouting above deck. Suddenly, familiar cries of pain erupted from the beasts aboard the enemy vessel as battle commenced between the pirates and Waverunners. Robert scrabbled to his footpaws, listening in horror as he heard what was most certainly his fellow crewbeasts getting cut down by the far more experienced corsairs.

 _This is all that bleedin' lunatic badger's fault!_ Robert shouted to himself. _Ain't nobeast here ready to deal with this insanity!_

The hedgehog peeked out his porthole once more, straining to look out to the pirate ship's deck. It was to no avail, however. His tiny window taunted him by only barely showing him the name of the ship: _The Silver Maiden_. Cursing to himself, Robert slammed the window shut.

 _I can't go up there._ Robert thought. _I'd only be gettin' in the way_. But after only the briefest of pauses, the hedgehog raced to his door anyway, wrenching it open and making his way up to the main deck. He was barely halfway there before he saw two beasts running towards him, carrying an unmoving body. Robert realized the squirrel was Ricken, an arrow protruding from his chest. He had spoken to the young squirrel just this morning about breakfast. He was barely twenty seasons. Brow furrowed, Robert ran faster and with more determination in each step.

Once he reached the main deck, the hedgehog swiftly scanned the ship. Most of the Waverunner crew was on the pirate vessel by now, but Robert saw many had never even made it off the Zephyr before meeting their fates by any number of things. Noticing a shrew moaning to his left, the hedgehog hurried to his side. The shrew, a usually quiet beast named Morton, was curled in a ball, holding his head.

"Eh now, don' you worry lil' buddy, I gotcha." Robert bent down to try and pick the shrew up, but the hedgehog's own arms wouldn't cooperate.

 _Come on now, he's just a tiny lil' thing!_ Robert grunted, and tried to drag the poor beast, but Morton howled in pain as he tried. Cursing, Robert looked around for anybeast who could help. He noticed two other hedgehogs, each struggling with the rigging on the ship.

"Ahoy! Willy, Bilford!"Robert shouted. The two hedgehogs glanced over to Robert, still very much invested in the rigging. "Ain't no time for that, now, beasts be dyin' out here! Help this'n out, he be needin' it!" A look of sudden realization on the two beast's faces, they hastily made their way over. They each gingerly hoisted one end of the shrew into the air, careful not to move him too quickly.

"Thank you muchly, friends!" Robert smiled in relief. "Just bring the fella to Crue an' she'll be fixin' him up right."

Bilford frowned a bit. "An' whatchu fixin' to do now, Rob? Ain't you comin' wit us?"

Robert's face fell, a dark seriousness seeping into his eyes. "I be needed over in the fight, you see. Them younguns ain't ready for all this nonsense that badger's got us in."

Willy frowned this time. "But ain't you just the navigator there, Rob?"

"Aye, I be the navigator," Robert said, a familiar gleam in his eyes, "but ain't nobeast jus' one thing."

With that, Robert left the three beasts and bounded across the deck towards _The Silver Maiden_. Armed with nothing but a battlecry, he leaped onto the enemy ship. Landing painfully wrong, the hedgehog winced as he started to hobble across the deck towards two beasts he found nearby, locking blades. A burly wildcat was chopping with his cutlass at a young hare soldier. Robert recognized the hare as Berek. The usually spirited young lad was now wide-eyed with fear as he fought back at the wildcat with wild swings of his sword.

"Tuck 'n roll, Berek!" Robert shouted to the hare, ignoring the pain in his footpaw as he barreled towards the beasts. Berek immediately dodged to the side just as the hedgehog smashed into the pirate with all of his weight. The wildcat dropped his cutlass as he tumbled, which Robert snatched off the ground and thrusted into the prone beast's chest. The usual gut-wrenching gurgle of pain erupted from the wildcat's mouth, and Robert ripped the cutlass right back out, ending the poor beast's life. The hedgehog turned to Berek, out of breath.

"Try an' avoid the bigger fellas, boyo," Robert panted. "They're size an' skill is jus' too much for you to be competin' with." Berek, mouth open wide and gasping as well, nodded. Robert nodded, then whirled around to scan the deck. Underneath the burning sails of the ship, many good soldiers were already dead on the ground, drenching it with their pools of blood. Several pirates were dead, too, but not enough to feel any sort of sick victory just yet. As he thought this, two ferrets came rushing towards the hedgehog and the hare. One was wearing an eyepatch, the other a snarl.

"Berek, take the one with the eyepatch!" Robert shouted. "Focus on his blindside, you'll be puttin' him on the defense!" The hedgehog then charged for the snarling ferret with the dead cat's cutlass, and swung in an arc towards the ferret's middle. Leaping back, the ferret then lunged for Robert's heart with his own blade. The attack was an obvious one, and Robert instinctively ducked to the side, but he wasn't fast enough and his shoulder was nicked in the process. Gritting his teeth in pain, the hedgehog came in close for another strike. The ferret was prepared for the sword, however, so the hedgehog socked him in the snout with his free paw. Yowling in pain, the pirate staggered back and Robert finished him with a lunge to the chest. Not bothering to retrieve his own cutlass from the corpse, he steals the dying ferret's. He then spun around desperately to check on Berek.

The young hare was faring well. He was unrelenting in his swings, and the ferret struggled to keep balance under the barrage of blows. Finally, the ferret slipped on the blood-slick deck and Berek took the chance, running the pirate through the heart. Robert couldn't contain a whoop of relief.

"Great work, me boyo! We may jus' get through this yet!" Berek turned to Robert, a look of pride splayed across the young hare's face. As he opened his mouth to shout back some of his own words of victory, a sword blade wedged itself into the back of the hare's skull with a sickening thunk. The hare crumpled to the ground. A scrawny stoat flashed a grin of sick glee as he dislodged his sword.

Robert's heart dropped to the floor and his breath caught short in his throat. The hedgehog gritted his teeth. Glaring into the stoat's eyes, the hedgehog charged forward, swinging his cutlass. The scrawny beast, now with a face full off horror, twisted around to flee.

"Don' you dare run, you flea-bitten coward!" Robert bellowed, leaping the gap and burying his own sword into the stoat's spine, bringing the pirate down. Without second thought, Robert crouched next to Berek's lifeless body. Looking upon the young hare's face, the hedgehog saw it was still frozen in that small moment of victory.

Robert could feel the emotion rising in his chest."Hey now, you bring that pride with'n you to the Dark Forest, you hear? You earned it, lad." Reaching down, Robert picked up the hare's sword. The old sailor rose once more for the battle, searching the deck for his fellow crewmates.

 _I cain't stop 'em from dyin'_ , Robert thought. _But I sure as 'Gates can make their dyin' mean somethin'_.


	20. I Have Not Yet Begun to Fight

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **I Have Not Yet Begun to Fight**

 _By: Vasily_

* * *

Above Vasily, people died.

Below him, sharks waited.

And there he was, in the middle.

Crouched behind a flimsy barricade of barrels and crates, the cat hugged his knees as screams and crashes reverberated through the otherwise empty hold. He had a distinct feeling that his life was stuck in some kind of cycle, endlessly repeating the same events until he made the heroic choice and died with his companions.

"Haha, that's got to be a lie," he choked out. "Not like I matter enough for the universe to have it out for me specifically."

 _Twice within a season is too much to be explained as just a coincidence._

"I took up with pirates, what was I supposed to expect?"

 _So then what, am I admitting I'm suicidal?_

"Did I really think I could succeed?"

 _Did I think my death would matter to her?_

"So what?!" Vasily sobbed, burying his face in the crook of his arm. "All this has proved is that I wouldn't be able to do anything when the time came! I'm still a useless coward, still hiding behind better beasts…"

Then there came a mighty roar, and the Silver Maiden shuddered under a tremendous impact. The hull buckled, then gave, and the sea eagerly rushed in to claim the new space. The ship began to list right, and the noise above him took on a new, more frantic edge.

Vasily's tail did its best imitation of a featherduster, but the dampness around his legs was definitely only from the water. The cat put a paw to his chest, trying and failing to distinguish the individual beats of his heart. "What…"

There was no one around to finish the question, so he left it hanging in the air as he scrambled over the fallen crates and barrels towards the exit.

It looked like his cowardice had won again; he was going to live until he found a better reason not to.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Vasily had seen beasts fighting desperately amid the burning ruins of his workplace, but it was by far the worst. Pirate and woodlander corpses littered the deck around the paws of their living comrades, who hacked viciously at each other in a horrific dance of slaughter. At the forefront stood an immense armored titan, effortlessly flinging beasts left and right as weapons bounced harmlessly off its armor. Eerily lit by the fire that had crept across most of the deck and up the sails, it looked like a mad painter's vision of Hellgates.

Vasily slapped a paw over his mouth to suppress the vomit, failed, and voided the remnants of a fine tuna from his stomach. Nothing could have prepared him for this; the hold was suddenly looking much more attractive.

But he dismissed that thought as a bad joke, and cast about for a friendly face. He found only Vera, holding an unconscious hare like a shield and flanked by a seemingly comatose weasel. She would have to do.

"Oy! Vera!" he called, struggling to make his voice heard over the din as he picked his way through the chaos of the deck.

"You know how to get those life boats down, right?" she asked as he drew up, almost tripping on the stunned weasel in the process.

Vasily leaned over and peered at the beast. A sobbing moan escaped the weasel as he pawed almost desperately at the multicolored, patchwork hat atop his head. Vasily recognized it as belonging to the one-time poisoner Tooley.

"What in 'Gates name happened to him?"

"I don't know; as soon as the sails went up his eyes just glazed over."

 _Well, I can certainly understand that._ "What should we do with him?"

"Leave him!"

"Hey, hey, hey, you can't honestly be saying…"

Vera narrowed her eyes. "What's the problem?"

Vasily hesitated. How could he explain to Vera, with her gaze full of horrors, the nausea that welled up when he remembered every face that would never move again, the accusation and hatred that their expressions bespoke, the unspoken question he could never answer?

So he didn't. "We… we could carry him, right?"

"Carry him if you want, but I'm getting out of here!"

True to her word, Vera was already heading out with furry armor in paw. Vasily hesitated, then rushed after her and shouldered part of the load himself.

Because Vera was right.

Of course she was right.

Some things were important.

Vasily wasn't going to sleep well for a while.

The combined strength of the quartermaster and cook dragged their shield across the deck in short order, and entirely unmolested. The sight of one of their own with Vera's kitchen knife pressed to his throat gave the woodlander forces pause, and they seemed too disorganized to mount any kind of rescue mission. A few meaningful gestures on the vixen's part scattered those directly in front of the lifeboat, and as they closed to within a few meters of freedom Vasily felt his heart begin to lift.

And then a long-eared shape popped out of the boat, bow drawn and arrow at the ready. "Um, so... that's my friend. Please, uh... don't hurt him. Please. Okay?"

The uniform-less hare's babbling seemed a good deal less intimidating than his weapon, and Vasily chanced a step forward, his free paw raised. "Now, let's be rational about this-"

"Hey! Don't mess with me. Really. There's, um... poison on these arrows. So, even if I just nick you, you're... like, dead. Yeah. Got it?"

Through the dim, flickering light provided by the remnants of the Maiden Vasily could make out something glistening on the point of the arrow. Even if the poison was a bluff, the arrow was real and it was definitely angled more towards him than his companion. The cat screwed his eyes shut. This whole situation was absurd.

Vera looked over her shoulder. "They're coming this way, Vasily! Handle it!"

"What the hell do you want?!" he shouted at the bow-wielding hare, voice cracking from the smoke and stress. "You trying to be a martyr or something?"

The beast gave a nervous chuckle. "Haha, well, um... no, nothing like that yet. It's more like, uh... these boats take two to lower, and... Atlas is crazy. And I don't want to die. And, uh... I don't want my friend to either."

The cat stood still for a second, processing what this hare had just given him. Then he turned to Vera. "You heard him! Drag that lump of fur in here now, we've just gained another rower!"

"He's the enemy! Are you insane?"

"No, I entirely sympathize with his reasoning!" he replied, already in the boat and tugging at ropes. "Does Ciera Ancora mean so much to you that you feel differently?"

That did it, at least. The hare's body landed next to Vasily, followed shortly by a vixen. He motioned to the conscious one, who released his rope in unison with the cat.

With both of its restraints free, the boat hurtled on badly-greased hinges towards the heaving surface of the ocean. Above them, shower of javelins flew over the railing, cutting the air where Vasily's head had been a moment before.

The impact jarred everybeast from their seat, and they lay among cut ropes and loose oars for a second until a loud crash from above announced that part of the _Silver Maiden's_ mast had finally given up the fight against fire and gravity. Vasily jerked up and grabbed an oar, intending to put some distance between himself and the flaming wreck that used to be his place of employment.

But he paused, causing Vera to prod him with a paddle. "What are you doing? We need to move!"

Vasily ignored her, and leaned over the edge of the boat and squinted off into the distance. No, it wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him; some strange lights danced off in the fog behind the woodlander ship, and they were growing brighter by the second. A dim memory surfaced, of an old stoat warning three young cats to beware of will-o'-the-wisps when they ventured out into the forest at night.

"…Tell me, Vera, do you believe in ghosts?"


	21. Hoist the Colours High

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Hoist the Colours High**

 _By: Ciera_

* * *

"They're still pourin' over the side, and we're losin' numbers fast! What do we do, Cap'n?"

Ciera blanched. The fire and the Waverunner invasion were each more than capable of striking a mortal blow to the undercrewed _Silver Maiden_. The combination of the two skewed the fight well beyond hopeless. There was really no decision to make – in the middle of a free-fall, there's nowhere to go but down. They couldn't run. They couldn't surrender. They could find a way to kill at least fourscore trained soldiers and a raging Badger Lord, or they could die. In short… they could die.

She hazarded a look upwards. The ship's colors had been almost entirely consumed by the flames. But just there, on the edges, the last remnants of that proud standard glowed red hot against the blackened sky.

"Kill them all!" she whispered.

With one motion, Ciera shrugged off her longcoat and let it fall to the deck. Rule one in a skirmish was to go after the enemy captain, and any visible sign of authority was a death sentence - especially with Atlas Stormstripe in the mix. Without it, she was simply a greyish ferret, practically indistinguishable from the other corsairs. The only unusual aspect of Ciera's appearance was a curious lack of battle scars marking her hide. Most foes would assess that as a sign of weakness. After all, a beast with a hundred scars had been pierced by a hundred blades, and lived to tell the tale. Ciera, however, felt that such a beast should've learnt to change tactics about ninety-nine scars ago. Most foes didn't realize that a lack of scars didn't necessarily mean that a beast couldn't fight; it could also very easily mean that the enemy rarely got a chance to draw their blade in the first place. Kicking the discarded coat aside, Ciera waded into the fray.

A Waverunner hare stiffened as Ciera's cutlass sliced into the base of his skull. He hit the deck nose first and rolled onto his side, revealing a death mask of shock. The corsair he'd been about to cleave in two smiled gratefully, and melted back into the chaos.

 _Four score Waverunners, take away one, leaves seventy-nine. Give or take._

The Waverunners outnumbered the _Maiden_ 's crew nearly two to one, and the raging fire tipped the odds even further; but if they had a weakness, it was the code of rank and regiment. Soldiers had it drilled into their heads that there were right and wrong ways to fight. They lived by rules, which meant they died by rulebreakers. Waverunners considered it dishonorable to backstab a foe who was otherwise engaged. Frequently, it was the last thing they ever considered. Codes of honor had little meaning to pirates in an honest-to-goodness battleground, and no meaning whatsoever to Ciera Ancora.

Ciera turned, ducked an errant pike thrust, and kicked out a booted footpaw. An otter charging an unwary searat hit the upthrust ankle and stumbled. The searat turned just time to block the otter's off-kilter blow. The otter reeled back, caught himself, and went in for the kill – only to stop short with a cutlass blade between his ribs.

 _Seventy-eight._

A crescent of blood lanced to the deck as Ciera withdrew the blade. The timbers trembled slightly. Ciera stopped, and hazarded a sniff. The rank smell of wood smoke set off alarm bells in her head. The _Maiden_ was still in distress.

 _Blast it all to Hellgates! Where is that fool Tooley? Why hasn't he put out the fire?_

Her footpaws itched, possessed of their own accord to dash for the galley and solve the problem herself.

 _No! Focus!_

She forced herself to wander deeper into the labyrinth of writhing bodies and scything blades, trying to block out the duelling voices in her head.

 _The_ Maiden _is burning! It'll be nothing but a charred hulk! You've got to fix this!_

Her boot heel came up, and stamped savagely down upon a mouse's errant tail…

 _You'll lose your home! Your crew! Your possessions!_

The mouse's yowl of pain ended abruptly as a blade tore into his throat…

 _Seventy-seven…_

She bodily shoved a hare, sending his thrust awry…

 _Forget the fire, if you leave the battle, the crew will die anyway! You have to be here to save them!_

She dodged a squirrel's lance thrust, struck back with her cutlass…

 _Tooley couldn't put out the fire! Chak couldn't stop us from being boarded!_

The squirrel was ready for her, and her slash went wide…

 _You've got to leave! You're the only one who can stop the fire!_

She corrected, but not quickly enough…

 _You've got to stay! You're the only one who can stop the Waverunners!_

The lance shaft cracked her solidly across the jaw…

 _If the_ Maiden _burns, it's all your fault!_

She fell to the deck…

 _If the Waverunners slaughter the crew, it's all your fault!_

The squirrel loomed over her, a monstrous silhouette backlit by a curtain of flame and smoke. He drew back the lance for a final thrust, she feinted left, prepared to spring to the right…

 _It's all your fault anyway._

She froze, paralyzed by the sudden influx of guilt. The lance speared the air where her head would have been an instant later.

 _You knew there was every possibility that this might be an ambush. And you sailed out here anyway._

She kicked upwards, aiming for a part of the squirrel's anatomy that lay pirates referred to as "the voonerables."

 _There was never any treasure. You led your crew straight into a trap._

The kick connected, so hard that the squirrel's footpaws briefly left the ground. He landed, legs ramrod stiff, eyes wide.

 _Fire or badger, either way you've killed them all. You've failed._

She sprang upright, and launched herself at the squirrel, teeth bared.

 _No!_

Cutlass met lance with a splintering crunch, and she drove her elbow hard into the squirrel's stomach. He staggered back, winded. The cutlass came up and caught him across the throat.

 _Seventy-six._

She snarled, breathing heavily, the tip of her cutlass weaving scarlet trails in the air. She glanced this way and that, daring anybeast to come near. Through a gap in the press of bodies, she spotted a familiar figure huddled sobbing at the base of the mast. A figure who should've been attending to fire in the galley.

"Mister Bostay…" she rasped. The words came out low and weak, no doubt exhausted from having to struggle past the blockade of curses mounting in her throat.

The weasel looked up, then around at the carnage, then at the burning sails, then back at her. Evidently, he'd decided what he feared most.

"'m sorry, Cap'n!"

"You're sorry?" she snapped, gesturing to the fire-ravaged sails. "You're sorry?"

"I tried, Cap'n, really I did!"

She drew back the cutlass. It dripped red in the firelight.

 _Don't._ Reason dropped like a stone slab across her mental pathways. _It's not his fault. There's no sense in punishing him._

She hesitated, looking deep into Tooley's eyes. They were wide with fear. Reflections of firelight danced in his pupils. No. There was no sense in punishing Tooley, in hurting him for a situation she herself had caused. No sense. No rationale. No purpose.

 _I don't care._

The cutlass stiffened. It would've gone very badly for Tooley just then, if the firelight reflected in his eyes hadn't suddenly turned blue.


	22. Atlas Shrugged

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Atlas Shrugged**

 _By: Airan_

* * *

Frederick Swiftpaw dodged nimbly to the side as a stoat stabbed at where he was only moments before. The colonel retaliated, his saber flashing a brilliant sheen from the fire burning the sails as he knocked away the other beast's sword and lunged forward, ending the pirate's life in a single instant. He sighed as he gave a look to the fallen stoat, shaking his head in disgust.

As one of the founding leaders of the Waverunners, Frederick had seen his fair share of battles. The Sampetra Blockade, the sinking of _the Emerald Queen,_ and even the final assault on Terramort, he remembered to the exact detail, down to the names of the countless beasts who gave their lives fighting bloodthirsty pirates so that the seas could finally be safe. But this battle was not anything like the others. Steel rang against steel and vermin lunged at the hare, but there was no eagerness in their strikes or murder in their eyes. It was panic and desperation that filled them, not from the Waverunner soldiers they struggled against, but from the lone, blood-crazed badger that led them.

Another scream pierced the air as Atlas' broadsword found another victim. Frederick winced at the sound of it, his sword dropping to his side as he turned to look behind him. The hare watched as, across _The Silver Maiden's_ deck, the badgerlord was a hurricane of rage, steel, and blood, his lone eye completely glossed over in the red mist of the Bloodwrath as he slaughtered anybeast unfortunate enough to wander within his reach.

"Please, please! No! NO NO!" an unlucky ferret shrieked as the badgerlord approached him. The poor beast scrambled backwards on the floor of the deck, clutching his cutlass in front of him in his shaking paws in a vain attempt to defend himself before hastily throwing it to the side and pleading for his life. "Please! I surrender!"

Atlas stood over the corsair for a moment, watching as the ferret clenched his eyes shut and cowered underneath him.

The badger swung his sword.

Frederick continued watching as Atlas took life after life. The hare had seen many battles, but to say that this was one of them would have been a lie. This was not a battle. This was a slaughter.

Frederick made his way to where Killian Wrightbones stood talking to another hare soldier. "A straggler in the water, you say?"

Frederick harrumphed to get his attention. "Colonel Wrightbones! Hold the line, wot," the hare said to him, wincing at the sound of the younger hare's newly-given title.

"Aye, colonel!" Wrightbones said back with a quick salute.

Though he had a limp, Frederick raced as fast as he possibly could across the deck towards the badger, hoping that he might be able to talk some sense into him. A burly rat gripping a crude cutlass stepped in his way, but was presently knocked aside by a mass of fur and spikes. Mister Rosequill, nearly stumbling from his charge, stood over the fallen rodent and gave a nod to the hare.

"Looks like I've still got a lil' fight lef' in me, colonel," the hedgehog said, almost somberly.

Frederick gave him a nod before pressing on, ducking and weaving through the rabble. He stopped momentarily, watching as two pirates, a fox and wildcat, held an unconscious Fildering with a knife to his neck. The grip on his saber tightened and he wanted nothing more than to try and aid the young soldier, but there were more important matters to attend to. The hare would have to take care of himself for now.

Frederick finally made his way to where Atlas was on the furthest end of the deck, near the mast. The hare's eyes widened as he saw the badger approach another beast. It was a young wildcat, barely older than their cabin boy, Scully, with tears pouring down his face and bandages covering his paws.

"Atlas, stop!" the hare called as he limped forward towards the badgerlord.

Atlas paused, his eye practically glowing red as he glanced to Frederick before taking another step towards the wildcat. "Return to your position, Colonel Swiftpaw," the badger said so calmly that Frederick felt chills run through his spine.

Frederick shook the feeling away, giving a look to the child Atlas stood over before narrowing his gaze. "Colonel Wrightbones can handle my position without me, sah," he said.

"Are you disobeying orders, Frederick?"

The hare ignored him. "Lord Atlas, please, don't do this. It's only a bally child! Look at his paws. He's injured, he can't even fight!"

The young wildcat's tears stopped as Atlas' broadsword point pressed against his throat. Once more, the badger glanced back to Frederick. "And what will happen if I allow him to live, Frederick? How many villages will he burn in his lifetime? How many innocent beasts will die by his paws? He's a child, yes... but as I have told you, even the faintest of winds..." Atlas raised his sword above his head.

"ATLAS, NO!" Frederick screamed.

"...Can become the mightiest of storms." The sword dropped and the young wildcat gave a single choked sob before he fell into a crumpled heap.

Frederick's jaw hung open and his paw dropped to his side as he watched Atlas calmly rip the blade from out of the child's carcass, the badger's scarlet cape billowing in the wind as dark blood spilled out around his footpaws. The hare stood silently behind him, hardly able to believe what happened.

There was a time when a young, headstrong, and ambitious badger stood at the gates of Salamandastron with only a rusted broadsword in his paws, rags on his back, and a broken manacle on his wrist, wanting nothing more than to make the seas safe for travelers and to make a name for himself. He was kind and fair to those he met, creating the Waverunners and leading them to countless victories, and sparing the enemies that threw down their arms. Lord Atlas the Just they called him.

But the day that Atlas fought Blade was the day that Atlas died, Frederick realized. It was no longer the kind ruler, his friend, that stood in front of him. It was a child-murderer, a beast who threatened families, and a monster who tried to execute a young stowaway for everybeast to see. The hare previously believed that maybe there was something still salvageable inside of him, a remnant of what he used to be, but he was wrong. The Bloodwrath consumed him long ago and Atlas was a name that could only be written in blood.

Frederick's paws trembled as he drew his saber and placed the blade to Atlas' neck.

Atlas tensed at the touch of it. "You would draw your sword upon your leader, colonel?" he asked.

"Yes, sah," Frederick answered. The sounds of battle around him had begun to quiet as beasts began turning their heads towards the display. The hare ceased his trembling and held the blade confidently for everybeast to see. If he could stand up to Atlas here, maybe they could as well.

Atlas turned to face him. "You are committing treason, colonel. Lower your weapon," he growled.

The hare narrowed his gaze. "I will not, sah."

"Very well."

There was a single shriek from an observer as Atlas suddenly swung his broadsword at the hare's head, but Frederick ducked underneath it. He scrambled backwards across the deck, trying to put as much distance between him and the badger as he possibly could before quickly getting back to his feet. The badgerlord rushed forward and swung at him once more, the blade coming down with such force that it splintered the wood of the deck. The hare saw his chance, gripping the hilt of his saber tightly as he lunged forward at Atlas' neck.

And then in that single instant, it was over.

Everybeast's eyes were fixed on Atlas, the badger standing with the saber's blade clutched in his massive, bare paw from where he had caught it. Blood ran down his arm as his eyes clouded over with red. Frederick stumbled forward as his opponent yanked the sword out of his grip and flung it to the side before catching the hare with his free paw.

Frederick gagged as Atlas hoisted him roughly into the air by the front collar of his Waverunner uniform, the badger giving him a single snarl before using his tremendous strength to fling the colonel like a ragdoll across the deck. The hare heard a crack as his body struck _The Silver Maiden's_ mast and he fell forward into a heap at the foot of it. He groaned in agony as he struggled to rise back to his footpaws, watching as the badgerlord retrieved his broadsword from where he dropped it.

"You are hereby relieved of all services to the Waverunners, Swiftpaw!" Atlas' voice boomed for everybeast to hear. "Because it is as you said..." he growled as low as a whisper, "Colonel Wrightbones can handle your position without you."

Frederick fell back forward upon the deck, his paws shaking to support his weight as he tried to rise to defend himself. The badger strode towards him with the broadsword ready.

"Swiftpaw!" He heard Crue's voice ring out as she made her way through the crowd of beasts aboard the pirate vessel in a vain attempt to stop the execution.

Atlas gave the healer a warning glance and continued forward, watching as a piece of _The Silver Maiden's_ mast crashed down upon the deck.

It was at that moment that a beast screamed, but not from Atlas or the execution about to take place. The weasel in question held his colorful, patchwork cap to his chest as he pointed to something off the _The Silver Maiden's_ starboard rail, the ferret next to him eyeing it as well and narrowing her gaze. Frederick followed her stare, looking out to the horizon. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Despite the blackness, Frederick saw another ship on the water, its form glowing an eerie blue that seemed to banish the mist around it, as if it were a specter not even of this world. The luminous glow flickered as the vessel cut through the dark waves towards them. Everybeast watched as the Ghost Ship approached, even Atlas, whose gaze darkened at the sight of it.

"Is that the-the-the...?" a beast stammered.

The ferret made her way to the railing and watched in disbelief as the vessel grew closer in the fog. The blue light gave another flicker before it went out, and the Ghost Ship suddenly disappeared in the blackness.

Frederick stared at where it was only moments before, groaning as Crue appeared and helped him to his feet. He motioned for her to stay back as he hobbled towards the railing, leaning against it to support himself as he watched the sea. He glanced up to _The Silver Maiden's_ sail where it was still ablaze with fire. "Atlas... they can see us."

The badger didn't seem to care as he moved beside the hare, the execution forgotten as he gripped the hilt of his broadsword and clenched his fangs.

As quickly as it had vanished, the blue glow reappeared and the Ghost Ship was much closer than before, so close that the hare could practically hear the timbers creak. Somebeast whimpered behind the hare. "Lord Atlas, it's coming straight towards us, wot," Frederick said. "We need to retreat. We have no idea how many beasts are aboard that ship."

"No," Atlas answered him. "Let it come."

The fight forgotten, some of the braver Waverunners and corsairs clambered closer to the starboard rails, watching in awe and murmuring to one another as the mysterious Ghost Ship grew closer and closer with each passing heartbeat. Frederick sighed with relief, noticing the young stowaway, Plink, trying to shove her way through the rabble for a better view, while the more superstitious of the groups huddled further away, whimpering at the very idea.

Everybeast was silent as the Ghost Ship approached, Frederick's eyes darting over it all. There was not a soul on the main deck of the ship, lanterns hung along the sides of it, blue fire burning within them and causing the ship to glow all over, and strange spikes stuck out from the hull. The mysterious vessel's black sails flapped in the chilled wind as it came to a stop beside _The Silver Maiden,_ too far to be potentially be boarded. And on the bow was a rusted and cracked nameplate.

 _The Phantom._

Atlas raised his sword, pointing it directly towards the ship. His eyes narrowed as he snarled. "I am Lord Atlas Stormstripe of Salamandastron, the Just, Slayer of Captain Blade! Have your captain pull your vessel closer so that I may board!" he called across to it. "Or are you too much of a coward to face me!?"

 _The Phantom_ groaned as it rocked steadily with the waves but otherwise had no response.

Frederick took a step back as he watched it, turning to look up at the mad badger. "Atlas, what was it that Leadbone said about _The Phantom?_ "

The badger raised a brow. "That we couldn't touch it. We would go right through it. It seems he lied about that."

"Aye, sah, and what else?"

"That it could sink a ship without touching it."

As soon as the words left Atlas' lips, something that could only be described as lightning flashed from _The Phantom's_ hull and Frederick had to cover his ears from the accompanying boom of thunder. Beasts screamed and were flung into the ocean as the lightning tore through _The Silver Maiden,_ destroying timber and puncturing holes within the pirate vessel. Frederick was flung backwards by the force, the hare's eyes wide as he watched the starboard rail in front of Atlas break.

Frederick gave one last look to where Atlas stood, trying to steady himself, before the deck beneath the badger's footpaws gave way underneath the combined weight of him and his battle armor. The wood splintered as gravity took him over the edge of the ship and into the sea below.

And Atlas was gone.


	23. Blood in the Water

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Blood in the Water**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

As screams and shouts echoed through the darkening sky, Chak could not tear his eyes from the deck of __The Silver Maiden__ where shadows dashed hither and thither and a raging badger roared. Fortunately for his life, the pair of Waverunner otters who held him at blade-point had decided to "capture" him rather than run him through and be done with it.

So far.

From what Chak could tell, the Waverunners aboard the pirate ship were granting no such quarter to his crewmates, and it turned his insides.

In the water the two otters were arguing how best to get their newfound prisoner onboard __The Zephyr__ so they could join the melee. The problem with taking a prisoner in water, however, was that one could not very well tie him up without dooming him to drown; so the otters had searched Chak and then had to keep their weapons trained on him constantly to prevent his escaping.

"Oy! You! Wavescum!" one finally shouted at him above the din. "Swim forward – that-away!"

Chak shot the otter a glare as he prodded him with the tip of his pronged fish spear and moved the direction indicated.

"Slow an' easy now! No tricks!"

Chak toyed with the idea of diving away, but the otters were too close and he didn't like the reach of that spear. If he was to survive, he had to play his hand right.

All traces of sunlight had completely vanished by now and the fire and lanterns from the two ships were all anybeast could see by in the curling fog, until strangely, in the distance, an eerie blue glow appeared.

Chak did a double take and was nearly impaled.

"Eh! Wot are you gawpin' a – ah —ahhh." The river otter's eyes grew wide and he waved a claw at the spectral form. "Drandy, mate – d'you see wot I see?" The three otters stared in awe as the ghost ship approached, its strange luminescence sending shivers down their spines.

It could not be real, and yet, there it was – mystical, glowing and creaking: __The Phantom.__

The activity aboard __The Silver Maiden__ seemed to subside somewhat as beasts – mostly Waverunners – gathered at the railings. __The Phantom__ approached and its black-burned hull glittered with ocean spray while spikes and ominous strange appendages stabbed out at odd angles. It seemed to slow as it drew alongside the pirate vessel, as though taking an extra long, vengeful look at Atlas, who glared defiantly back, shouting some kind of challenge.

Then Hell opened up as lightning and fire flashed, thunder boomed, and invisible claws punched violent, gaping holes straight through the sides of __The Silver Maiden__. Beasts and debris flew through the air and landed in the water all around. Chak thought he felt a splinter or two embed itself in his skin as he threw up an arm to protect his face. The ghost ship continued forward out of a massive black cloud of death straight toward the three otters bobbing in the water. Panic seized them all. The Waverunners swam one way while Chak dove deep.

The huge black body of the ghost ship drifted over the sea otter, discernible by its sheer mass and an ethereal blue outline. Several heartbeats passed as the peaceful silence of the ocean enveloped him and the ship slipped away, then Chak snapped back to reality and shot to the surface with a splash, gasping at the smoke-filled air.

A beast bumped into him and Chak leaped back reflexively, thinking his captors had pursued him after all, but it was a hare. An obviously _ _dead__ hare. Chak turned his attention to __The Silver Maiden__ , which sat at an odd angle, taking on water. A light sputtered out as it touched the surface of the sea, while the remaining lanterns illuminated beasts moaning, crawling and staggering across the slanted deck.

The slaves.

The slaves were still chained.

Chak kicked himself into action, swimming with otter speed to the galley. He climbed a half-burned tangle of rigging then launched himself over the broken railing with a grunt. No sign of the badger or the captain. Most survivors – both pirates and Waverunners – were jumping ship.

"DAGGLE!" he roared above the chaos, searching about for the wall-eyed rat who had his key. "DAGGLE!" He scanned the waters around the ship for the rat's body, but it was too dark to make out any faces. Chak cursed.

Just then, a familiar weasel caught his eye. Chak seized Tooley by the shirt and shook him by the collar. "Where be that wormy-livered scalawag chum o' yours, weasel?"

Tooley didn't seem to hear him at first, eyes distant as he focused on the confusion around them. "I dunno," he gasped, then glanced up at Chak, face etched with worry. "I-I can't find 'im!"

Chak growled and tossed the useless pirate aside. The ship creaked and tilted further, nearly throwing the otter to his knees. Compensating for the lean, he tore across the deck to the stairs leading down below.

The lower deck was chaos, water and blood. A hole had been blown through the wall on both sides and had taken out several rows of slaves. By the light of a few remaining lanterns Chak could see half of the oar benches were already submerged, their captives drowned or drowning.

 _ _Oh no.__ Minstrel's bench had been at the back. Chak started for the blood-filled water, then stopped, remembering how he'd relocated the mouse to the front row last night.

"Minstrel!" he rushed back to find the mouse and squirrel huddled together. They were taking turns gnawing at the floorboards around the chain that held them both. Minstrel looked up at Chak with some surprise.

"Quick! The key!" The mouse pulled Scrufftail back and gestured at the manacles around their ankles.

"I…I don' 'ave it!" Chak confessed, surprised at the crack in his own voice.

"Find something else then!" Minstrel shouted, looking grim as he returned to scraping the floor with his teeth. Four slaves, Chip, Gilly, Bluster, and Hodgepodge, cried out and gurgled as water flooded their gaping mouths.

"Arrrrrrr!" Chak roared in frustration, rushing into his quarters and tearing the place apart.

The slave driver had made a point not to leave objects lying around that could potentially be used as weapons, so there were few options available. He smashed the jar of chestnuts and hurled a pair of boots out of his way contemptuously before seizing hold of his cot and breaking one of the legs off. He charged back into the slave quarters with the piece of wood. Water was rising at an alarming rate. Debris and body parts bobbed at the surface while the paws of more drowning slaves reached towards him desperately. Only the last two benches remained above water, and it was getting harder and harder to stand.

"Chak – we need you!" Minstrel called out as he and Scrufftail worked to free the deeply set nails.

Chak hurried over to help them pull at the manacle's base. He shoved the wooden bar into the gap the two had chewed and wrenched it, tugging aggressively. The nails were abnormally long and embedded deep, specifically so no slave could do what they were trying to do. The nails held.

Chak threw all his strength into the makeshift lever, muscles bulging, teeth grinding, and veins popping as saltwater swallowed them all in a surprising gush. The manacle broke free and darkness engulfed them. Chak seized the mouse and squirrel and swam blindly towards the stairs and the surface.

Except the surface was no longer there.

The otter rammed his head blindly into wood, unable to reach out with either of his occupied paws.

They were trapped – sinking along with __The Silver Maiden__ to the bottom of the sea.

No. The hatch was there, somewhere. He just had to find it.

Chak felt with his body, scraping the back of his neck and shoulders along the wood until at last he found the opening and pushed through. With a last surge of adrenaline, the otter thrust for the surface.

All three beasts gasped as they broke through the water into cool night air, sucking in deep, hungry breaths. Chak spun around, trying to find his bearings in the cloudy darkness while holding the two slave beasts' heads above water.

Here and there stars broke through gaps in the patchwork of clouds, though the moon itself was waning. In the distance, the island came into view, shrouded by mist, and Chak finally knew what direction to head. He leaned back, belly up, and exhaled, beginning the long swim toward shore. He clutched an exhausted mouse and squirrel under each arm, as his mother had carried him long ago…

…sans manacles.


	24. Arr, Ye Rough an' Rowdy Sea

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Arr, Ye Rough an' Rowdy Sea**

 _by: Plink_

* * *

There was a whistling sound that came in the wake of those thunderous booms and, though she had no clue what it meant, that noise made the fur on Plink's spine stand up in a way that the sight of a glowing blue ghost ship had not. Then the explosion hurled her and a dozen other beasts across the deck like so many teeth punched out of a mouth. The young rat slammed into a hare who had just staggered back against the port rail, and they both pitched overboard with her momentum.

Dazed, and with her ears ringing and oddly quiet, Plink would have fallen straight into the sea had it not been for her desperate grip on the hare. Apparently having weathered the blast better than she had, he managed to catch a pawhold on one of the ropes hanging off the bow of _The Zephyr_. Plink clung to the front of his uniform jacket like an oversized medal. He scowled down at her, whiskers bristling.

"Unhand me, ya bally flyin' scoundrel!"

"Wait!" Plink struggled as he kicked at her. "I can't sw-"

His footclaws caught on her sash and ripped her paws from his jacket, sending her plummeting into the water. She hit with a slap of impact and silence pressed in against her at once, strange and arresting. Plink floated there beneath the surface for a moment, then opened her eyes to the burning saltwater.

All around her, dark shapes floated just as she did. Bodies. Hares, rats, weasels. Some struggled feebly toward the dampened flicker of the blazing sails, but most were still, faintly dappled in green-gold light. Something brushed Plink's tail and she twisted to find it was that mouse she'd seen on the night watch. Marcus. He stared straight ahead and his frozen expression bespoke the mildest concern, as if death did not quite fit into his plan.

Plink clawed at the water and bodies and debris, surging toward the surface with wild desperation. She burst out of the silence and into the screams and cracks coming from the burning ship. Blinded by salt and sucking in one huge breath after another, Plink flailed toward the light and noise. She choked on seawater and smoke but finally managed to scrabble on top of the broken end of an oar that jutted from the hull.

 _The Zephyr_ had disengaged from the pirate ship and was ponderously turning toward open water. As her eyes streamed and her vision cleared, Plink could see woodlanders leaning over the rail high above, helping their comrades climb aboard from their ropes and pointing over the pirate vessel toward the ghost ship. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but the anxious tones of their shouts reached her.

"You lot are running away?" Plink croaked, then coughed and spat as she clambered to her footpaws, barely balancing on the oar with one paw braced on the hull behind her. All her fear from the battle faded, but her voice still broke as she shouted and her words were lost beneath the din of flames and waves. "Avast ye cowards! This be why ye call yerselves Wave _runners_?"

 _The Zephyr_ 's sails filled and fluttered with the light wind, propelling it along its course. The hulking vessel glided off into the fog, indifferent to the shouts of those just realizing they'd been left behind, much less the squeaky challenges of one small rat.

Sea water surged up to her ankles and Plink looked again at the ship that bore her. The oars to the stern were still well above the level of the water, but with each wave more poured through the oar holes at the bow. There were noises seeping out from inside, too. Beasts were crying out in there.

Feeling sick, Plink set her jaw and began climbing toward the deck. The sail was all but consumed now, shedding ash like fall leaves, but Plink laid her ears back so no wisps would float in and kept on climbing.

A mighty crack sounded from above, and the ship shuddered as one of the spars came smashing down on the deck. Plink lost her grip on the hull and clawed and scrambled as she half-fell and half-slid back down to the oars - and up to her knees in the ocean.

There was a great commotion on deck, but it sounded different from the battle. No weapons clanged, nobeast shouted war cries. Maybe now they were rushing to make repairs. Plink dug her claws in and clambered back up the side of the ship. Whatever the job, she would help. She was a part of this crew, now.

And so was Scully - despite that rat who'd tried to cut his throat first thing when they boarded. Plink had had to bite the pirate to loosen his grip on the hare. When there was time, she'd explain the situation. Until then, though-

A blast sounded behind her and Plink turned, but there was nothing to see. The clouds blocked out the moon and stars and the light of the fire cast the waves and roiling fog in a sickly yellow. Then, in the distance, the smokey blue lights winked to life once more and the ghost ship's thunder sounded.

Plink flinched against the side of the galley, but the fire of the explosion cast a tall, blocky silhouette - _The Zephyr_ , gone again in a flash. The ghost ship had cut off the Waverunners' escape and was about to finish them off. Transfixed, Plink watched the blue lights wink out, then blaze again in a new position as the ghost ship vanished and reappeared. Four times the lights shone, but the thunder did not come again. Then, there was nothing but the fog.

Plink tried to peer through the vapor for a moment longer, listening, but no sounds reached her. In fact, even the activity on deck had diminished. And below, the water level had risen above all of the oars.

Plink scrambled up and over the railing to find the ship listing hard and waves already lapping onto the deck toward the bow. Few beasts remained aboard, among them a weasel who called out the same name over and over as he scanned the bits of wood and bodies bobbing in the surrounding water. He sounded scared, terrified for Daggle - whoever Daggle was.

The weasel's calls mingled with other shouts and cries of pain, and Plink realized that the rowboats were gone. She forgot all about the voices behind the oar holes and the crew she was supposed to be a part of now. Even the sinking ship seemed unimportant.

"Scully!" Plink rushed across the deck, checking the faces of one dead hare after another. Her footpads skidded across wide slicks of blood. Everything reeked of smoke and death. She leapt over the fallen spar that bisected the deck, now just a long burning log. The mast gave an ominous creak that made the entire ship tremble. "Scully!"

Finally, Plink hesitated over the pile of bodies - a hare and two stoats - near the longboat pulleys where she had left him. One of the stoats gaped at the sky, a big dark hole yawning in the blood-matted fur of his throat. Plink swallowed hard and gritted her teeth, but her paws shook as she rolled the hare over.

 _Wait here, matey_ , she'd said, tugging the cover off one of the rowboats to indicate the space beneath. _Better if you stay out o' sight until we can convince everybeast you're on our side._

He'd had a stricken look about him after the attack, and he clambered into the rowboat with a little urging. _Um... okay but, like-_

 _I gotta go help, Scully. Just stay out o' sight an' I'll come back for you soon as I can._ And then she'd flipped the cover back in place and left him there.

Now, Plink gripped the still-warm shoulder of the hare and shuddered when she saw its face. It wasn't Scully. This hare was much older, with a scar down one side of her muzzle, and as Plink rolled her, she grunted. There was a big lump rising on her brow.

Not that Plink cared about some Waverunner. She peered franticly around the deck, then at the rising water. The weasel had jumped ship and was paddling toward the dark mass of the island, gripping a chunk of the ship's thick railing to stay afloat. Several other beasts were doing the same, all indistinct masses splashing by the flickering remnants of the sail. Plink couldn't tell if any of them were Scully, but when she called his name again, nobeast answered.

A big, horrible feeling was swelling in her chest. Anything could have happened to him. He might have been taken prisoner by the Waverunners for helping her escape... And the pirates weren't likely to accept a puffy-cheeked hare cabin boy without somebeast to vouch for him. He needed Plink.

Nobeast had needed Plink since her ma died, but Scully did. He'd kept her secret. He'd come to help her escape the brig. He was a part of her crew. And now he was gone - because Plink had left him, thinking he'd be safe. The young rat scrubbed at her eyes and went on scanning the field of debris until the timbers of the mast squealed and splintered and the last remnants of the rigging slapped down into the sea.

The clouds were beginning to split and break, and faint beams of moonlight cut pale swaths across the thinning fog. Far off from the sinking ship, the light hit a rowboat, shrinking in the distance. Plink couldn't pick out much, but she thought she saw the tall ears of a hare.

Yes, she decided. They were a hare's ears. They were Scully's ears, and wherever he was going, Plink would find him. She'd find him and she'd rescue him, one way or another. A pirate looked out for her crew.

Waves reached up the deck and hissed and spat when they lapped at the burning spar. Plink retreated from them. There were no more boats to take her to the island. She would have to swim that long stretch herself. It seemed impossible, it was so far. But Plink straightened up and began looking around for something to hold onto, something to help her float.

Her heel bumped a soft weight and, when she looked back, she saw she'd kicked one of the dead stoats. Plink snatched the dirk out of his limp paw and her eye caught on the unconscious hare.

The dirk was long and wickedly sharp. Maybe, if she'd had a weapon like this during the battle, Plink would have really fought a beast instead of just tripping Waverunners with a broken pike and dodging out of the way. She wiped a smear of blood off the blade and swallowed hard against the memory of hot gore on her footpaws, then watched the hare's soft throat bob with her pulse. With a weapon like this…

A wave flushed up around the young rat's ankles. The hare's eyelids fluttered. Plink hesitated, then turned away, securing the dirk through her sash.

She found an empty spirits cask and began the long swim to shore, maneuvering slowly through the field of wreckage as the ship submerged behind her. The lingering flames cut out with a vicious hiss. Most of the other survivors were far ahead of her now, dots she occasionally glimpsed in the distance when the waves bore her up just right, so when a voice came to her from what she had taken for a heap of wreckage, Plink flinched and gulped a mouthful of seawater.

"Hello there, young lass," the hedgehog said. He was kicking along at a sedate pace, comfortably resting his arms and belly on what appeared to be the door from the pirate ship's kitchen. There was a weary hunch to his big shoulders, but his smile was kind. "Sorry - didn't mean to startle you."

"I ain't startled!" Plink had to stop and cough and spit before she could go on. "I saw ye lurkin' over there! Just lost me grip fer a second."

"O' course," he said pleasantly. "Ain't an easy thing to keep afloat when your buoy's tryin' to roll off on you like that. There's plenty room here on the door, if'n you don't mind sharin'."

The small cask certainly was not ideal. It floated a bit more than half out of the water and, whenever Plink tried to rest her weight on top of it, it rolled out from under her. She'd considered swapping it out for some other piece of wood, but now she dug her claws into it and kicked harder to put distance between the Waverunner and herself.

That hare with the scar had been unfamiliar, but Plink remembered this hedgehog. He'd been on deck when Stormstripe was closing in on her. Her memory was very much dominated by that one bloody eye and the sheer mass of the beast about to end her, but Plink remembered the silence of all those Waverunners, too.

"I don't need yer stupid door, hedgepig. Gerraway from me."

"Alright, lass," he said, a hint more somber. "Ain't no prickles off me back, heh heh heh."

Plink pressed hard for the island and the hedgehog fell behind, but she could hear him still every time she paused to catch her breath. The slow rhythm of his kicks made little noise but he seemed to have no trouble keeping up. Plink clenched her jaw and ignored him, fixing her eyes on the dark shape of the island ahead. It cut up against the night sky, a fatal wound on the horizon.


	25. Heave Ho, Thieves and Beggars

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Heave Ho, Thieves and Beggars**

 _by: Ciera_

* * *

 _"_ _Open your eyes. Take a look."_

She hesitated, then obliged. The sight took her breath away.

Blade's expression was impossible to read in the autumn twilight. "She's all yours… Captain."

"All mine." The words sounded no less strange in her own voice.

She extended a paw, cautiously. Silly as it seemed, she was afraid of breaking something. But oh, that first contact. Nothing had ever felt more right, more meant to be.

"Hello, you," she said, unable to contain a sheepish grin. "I guess… I guess you're mine, huh?"

So much responsibility. So many duties to be taken care of, such a complicated role to fill. She only hoped she'd be able to keep from messing everything up.

"Aye." said Blade.

"All mine," Ciera repeated. All hers. Her very own Silver Maiden…

* * *

Ciera spun, amidst a cloud of sawdust, splinters, and smoke. Wind screamed past her face. Her paws scrabbled wildly at thin air, finding nothing solid to cling to as she tumbled end over end.

She hit the wave tops laterally, her body gouging an ungainly channel through the swell. A split second later the surface tore open to admit her, and water filled her eyes and ears and mouth. A long plume of bubbles tracked the ferret's descent into the night-dark sea. Eventually she slowed, and hung suspended in the water. Bubbles squeezed from her nostrils, and sped away towards the distant surface.

Ciera had never learnt to swim well, so she thrashed her paws about and swam badly. An agonizing few minutes later, she hit the surface, and sucked in a greedy lungful of air. She looked around, searching for the _Maiden_. She spotted it a ways off, listing heavily to one side, and riding low in the water. It looked ready to drop into the depths at any moment.

"No, no, nooo!" she wailed plaintively.

She flung herself headlong towards the listing _Maiden_ , buoyed less by the motion of her errant strokes than by the raging madness in her soul. Brackish seawater gushed into her mouth. She choked and spat it out, then continued on. Harsh salt burnt her eyes, and stung a hundred previously-unnoticed wounds. Her paws frenetically scythed into the water as though she was trying to shove the entire ocean out of her way.

Eventually, one flailing paw caught a large chunk of debris. She righted herself, and clung to the floating object, coughing some seawater out of her burning lungs. Upon further inspection, she identified the debris as a chunk of wall. It had spent several seasons delineating cabins in the _Maiden_ 's lower decks, but evidently had taken the opportunity to explore new career options. After one or two false starts, she managed to haul herself onto the makeshift raft. In the distance ahead of her, the _Maiden_ was nearing the waterline.

She reached a paw out, willing her touch to be felt across the impossible distance. "Hello, you," she managed to cough out, her throat raspy with brine.

An unexpected swell tipped her into the sea. She paddled frantically, desperate to regain contact. Her claws raked the wood, then caught. She pulled herself up, gritting her teeth. Most of the wall's joists had been knocked loose by the initial blast, and the raft was on the verge of drifting apart. She found the two most stable boards, and wormed the claws of one paw deeply into the fissure between them. Satisfied that she'd found some kind of stability, she turned her gaze back to the dying pirate ship.

"My poor beautiful girl…" Ciera murmured. "What have they done to you?"

Another wave lapped at the raft. The current was pulling her farther away from the _Maiden_. Ciera clung grimly to the crack and scooted herself round to lower her back legs into the water. She began to kick towards her ship.

"It's okay, baby," she gasped. "I'm coming. I'm coming to get you, and everything's going to be fine. I'm not going anywhere." She kept her voice calm, reassuring.

The ship tilted a bit, and even across the waves Ciera could hear the timbers groan in complaint.

"I know it hurts," she murmured soothingly. "I know. But it's going to be okay. I promise."

Tears hit the raft planks. "It's going to be okay. I'll stay right here with you." The words came out too fast, betraying how desperately she wanted to believe them. She kicked harder, trying to close the distance between her and the ship. "I'm not going to leave you. I'll never leave you again."

She'd tried so hard. Every day, she'd tried. From that bright summer morning Blade had given her the ship, told her it was hers to command, she'd done everything she could to treat the _Silver Maiden_ well. To attend to its needs, make sure it was well looked-after. She had trained up her crew, sanded off their rough edges and transformed them into a cohesive unit. And under her command, the _Maiden_ had become one of the most trustworthy ships in Blade's empire.

In the end, it hadn't been enough.

The strong and brave, the smart and the skilled, none of them stood a chance against Atlas Stormstripe. Not even Blade. And now, not even her.

The raft hadn't moved an inch closer to The _Maiden_. She'd never make it, not at this pace. She was too tired to swim, and too weak to paddle the raft. She was once again going to miss the _Maiden_ 's final moments. She hadn't been there for Blade's death, either.

Death seemed to take a perverse pleasure in denying her the chance to say goodbye. It wasn't fair.

A faint blur of movement caught her eye. She turned.

There was a rowboat. She couldn't make out the identities of the blobby beasts within it, but by the look of things, they weren't making much progress. If she turned now, perhaps she could catch up to them. Climb aboard, or possibly attempt a show of force, depending on the occupants.

And then what? Where were those beasts going? What were they doing? What did she possibly hope to accomplish? She'd messed everything up. She had none of the things that made her a Captain. No ship, no crew. She didn't even have her longcoat. All she had was the honorific.

There weren't many pirate captains left. With every passing day, more of them turned up on the list of the dead. Captains who were fiercer fighters than her. Captains who were smarter than her. Captains with faster ships and tougher crews. The rumors said Captain Barnacle and the entire crew of the _Sprayqueen_ had been cut down when they made port for supplies; they said the _Bladekeel_ had been hit with a fusillade of flaming arrows and burned to its timbers; they said Lady Ariana and her fearsome _Veiled Sistren_ had been ambushed and slaughtered while raiding a coastal village; they said Maddog Hershey went down with the _Darkrayne_ after being rammed by a Waverunner vessel; they even said that Atlas Stormstripe had torn out Wild Ulyssa Poisson's spine out with his bare paws.

And, if she didn't start paddling nowishly, they'd be saying that Captain Ciera Ancora and her beloved _Silver Maiden_ had been blown straight to Hellgates by a ghost ship, and were never seen again. Furthermore, they'd say that Atlas had finally won. She'd be blowed if they were going to get to say _that._ Some things were worse than death.

Captain Ciera Ancora didn't have a ship, but she had a raft. She didn't have a crew, but she had a few distant blobs. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.

She turned round, and began kicking. Buoyed by the favorable current, the raft picked up speed, and began gaining on the lifeboat.

* * *

 _"_ _Hermione, can you say 'Silver Maiden'?"_

The ferretbabe looked up at her, then scrunched her face into a gravely serious expression. "e'rr ai'en." Hermione's tiny tongue garbled it, so that it came out as

Rrrin.

Ciera smiled. "Close enough, I suppose."

"Rin," the child repeated.

"Rin." Ciera smiled. "I like the sound of that. I guess you're my very own little Rin."


	26. Forget You

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Forget You**

 _By Vasily_

* * *

The _Silver Maiden_ died slowly, despite the gaping holes that the ghost ship had torn in its side. At least, it looked that way from the lifeboat; inside, beasts were probably frantically scrambling for an escape from the rising torrent, assuming the blast hadn't killed them.

Vasily was glad he wasn't them.

In another time he would have vomited at the sight, but the sight of his comrades mercilessly butchered in front of him seemed to have permanently hardened his stomach. Probably not a good thing, on reflection. Getting used to death was the first step.

"You done over there?" he called, unable to pull his eyes from the last remnants of his latest home bubbling up to the surface.

"Yeah, you won't have to worry about this one," replied Vera, tightening one last rope. The unconscious hare lay among the bilges of their tiny lifeboat, trussed up like hung meat.

"Good," said Vas. He looked at the hare sitting beside him. "You don't try anything funny, understand? Or I'll show you why they called me 'Thumbscrews.'"

The young beast nodded, and his eyes, already round as saucers since the appearance of the ghost ship, stretched even further so that Vasily feared they might pop out of his head. Poor bastard.

"So, who in Fate's name _are_ you, anyway? Got a name, or something?"

"S-Scully!" he peeped. "Scully... Craws. I-I am on your side. I want to, uh... be one of you guys. I mean, I was on the _Zephyr_ , but that was just, um... a trick."

Vasily and Vera exchanged glances over the shaking Scully's head. Then the cat broke into a toothy grin, eerily illuminated by the burning wreckage. "Glad to hear that, mate! I'm Vasily Izhets, Quartermaster of the _Silver Maiden._ I've met a few beasts like you, and let me tell you, their screams were absolutely _fantastic_. That over there is Vera, our cook; she's the one that handles disposal once I get a bit… over-enthusiastic. Her meat stew is absolutely to _die_ for. Now, I do hope that you're being completely honest about that sympathizer thing, because otherwise…"

He clapped a paw onto the hare's shoulder and extended his claws into his fur. The lapin was shaking like a leaf, though Vasily could practically hear Vera's eye-rolling behind their back.

"Can we please get moving now?" she asked with a sigh. "I'd like to make landfall before that other ship gets back, if you're not too busy back there."

"Good point. Solid point," said Vasily, finally turning away from what had once been the _Silver Maiden._ He handed a paddle to Scully and took another himself, while in the bow Vera was already dipping hers into the water.

It soon developed that of the three conscious beasts on the boat, not one of them had much of an aptitude for the more manual aspects of sailing. After five minutes or more of sustained effort they were no closer to the dim shoreline, and tempers were beginning to fray.

"You know, I'd swear you're splashing me considerably more than him," commented Vasily.

Vera shrugged. "Must be your imagination."

"No, I am definitely sopping wet right now, while Scully here has nary a drop on his innocent young fur."

"You're mad. Why would I do something like that when we're trying to escape?"

"Rivalry is an ugly thing. My sister made sure to set my home on fire even as she was being kidnapped."

"That may have had more to do with your sister specifically than beasts in general."

The cat raised his eyebrows. "You might have a point. Your aura of death and destruction has nothing on her evil petty-mindedness."

"…My what?"

"That was a lie, never you mind."

"Are… are you sure you're actually pirates?" Scully finally piped up.

Vasily banked his oar and leaned back. "You got me. I'm just an ordinary cat on a quest to remedy injustice and save a beloved member of my family."

Scully continued paddling, cause their boat to begin spinning around. Vera sighed, removed her paddle, and hit Vasily on the head with it. He grimaced, but renewed rowing.

"Also, she's a traveling gourmet, but I am pretty sure she's killed beasts."

"That's slander."

"So... neither of you are really, like, seafaring beasts? You don't even really... fight? You cook and... what? Fold the laundry?"

"Do I _look_ like I belong here?" muttered Vera.

"Well, I used to be a quartermaster for a large-scale slaving operation, but that was on land so I'm not really sure it counts."

"Ah." For some reason that Vasily couldn't fathom, Scully looked slightly disappointed to learn that his captors weren't the type of beasts who would indiscriminately kill him for a lark. He couldn't understand young beasts these days.

"Were all the beasts on your ship like this?"

"Nah, you should have met the captain. She was absolutely terrifying; legend had it that she could freeze a beast's heart just by staring at them too long, and she personally tortured every captive we had. Glad to be rid of her, frankly; I could feel my life expectancy falling just from being on the same boat as her."

"What kind of beast was she?"

"A ferret, why?"

"Well… is that her over there?"

Vasily leaned over the hare's lap and narrowed his eyes. His omnipresent grin wavered, and he cursed the superior night vision of his species. "…Yeah, that's her. Dammit. Vera, stop the boat."

"Are you really going to pick her up if she's that... heartless?" asked Scully.

"I have a feeling that if we passed her by she'd swim all the way to the island just to kill us."

That was a lie.

With a lot more splashing the unlikely trio managed to turn the boat towards the swimming ferret and make some progress in her general direction, and soon a grimly paddling Ciera Ancora drew up against the side of the lifeboat. Vasily was surprised to learn that she looked much smaller with her fur slicked back by water.

"Afternoon, Captain. Need a lift?"

"Quartermaster, I am in no mood for your meaningless babble. I've been swimming after you lot for a while now, and it's been a damn exhausting night."

After saying this, the ferret grabbed onto the side of the boat and began to hoist herself up. When she did so, the tiny craft leaned dramatically to the right, Vasily pierced his paw on an exposed nail trying to stop himself falling headlong into the ocean, and they began to take on water. After a quick, confused struggle Ciera lowered herself back down and the group considered their next move.

"So the lifeboats can only hold four beasts, I take it?"

"Yeah. Didn't know you had another captive."

"Great. Just great. Now what do we do?"

"Throw one of the hares overboard?" suggested Vera. Scully paled, and the other one groaned and twitched as seawater flowed in and out of his ears.

"Those are valuable captives, we need them alive," replied the Captain.

The vixen drummed her claws on the hull. "What else can we do, then?"

"One of you get out and swim."

Vasily and Vera looked at each other, eyes narrowing.

"Flip for it?" said the cat, taking out a coin.

"Fair enough. We'll do it in shifts."

"I call heads," he said, then launched the coin into the air.

The small bronze disc spun up into the air, then came right back down into Vasily's waiting paw. "I win. You're going for a swim, friend."

Vera grumbled, but she tied their other rope around herself and fastened the end to the ring that had formerly secured the lifeboat to its parent ship. Meanwhile, Vasily kissed the two-headed coin and put it back in his pocket, then set about to licking the bleeding hole in his paw.

"You done up there?" called Ciera.

"Yeah, we're ready. Vera, you first."

The vixen hopped into the water, and the ferret climbed up. She turned to face her two remaining rowers, and Vasily felt the old familiar chill of fear.

"All right, you lot, I don't know why this hare is helping you, but it doesn't really matter right now. What's important is that you clearly don't know a bloody thing about rowing. On my mark, you will dip the blade of your paddle into the water and push back, not up. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am," they both replied in unison.

Under the Captain's direction they made considerable progress, but soon a steady stream of complaints began to emerge from their aquatic companion. After several minutes of this, during which they covered about half the distance to the island, Ciera called a halt.

"All right Vasily, your turn in the water now."

"Pardon?" said the cat.

"You heard her!" Vera shouted. "Get in here already, I've done my share."

"Are you sure? I'm not really that strong a swimmer…" He withered under Ciera's glare. "Understood. Vera, could you toss up the rope?"

After Vasily had tied the soaked rope belt around his waist, he stared into the water, working up the nerve to dive in. Then Ciera pushed him.

The ocean was freezing, and the impact caused the wound in his hand to start bleeding again, which now began to sting keenly. After a bit of a frantic moment, the cat's head emerged from the water in time to see Vera climb aboard. He heaved a sigh, and prepared himself for the most physically demanding time of his life.

Then something brushed his leg.

"Hey! Hey, did any of you see that?"

"See what?" asked Vera. Ciera was even less sympathetic, she just shook her head and returned to paddling. Vasily started to do the same, albeit with a different sort of paddling, but then he felt it again. A brief, rough sensation on the outside of his leg that disappeared as quickly as it came.

That did it. The cat's self-preservation instinct kicked in, and he grabbed the side of the boat and tried to heave himself over in a repeat of Ciera's earlier attempt. The ferret jabbed at him with her paddle, shouting, "What the hell do you think you're doing?! You'll capsize us all!"

"There's something in there!" screamed the wide-eyed cat. "I swear, I felt it! You have to let me back in, I'll die in there!"

"This is a bit dramatic just to get out of some swimming, don't you think?" said Vera, joining the effort to push him back in. "I did my job, now you do yours."

"No, you don't understand! This time it isn't- _AAAAAaaaaagh!_ "

Vasily's scream of pain was accompanied by corresponding ones of shock from the boat's occupants, and he turned around to see the most horrifying face he'd ever seen staring back at him. Its skin was grey like steel, the eyes black as ink, and the teeth red with the blood streaming from the leg it held in its mouth.

" _Ohfatesohfatesohfates_ GET IT OFF!"

Before anybeast could react the shark pulled back down into the water. The rope tied around Vasily's waist held, however, and he started to take the boat with him. A brief stalemate ensued, but the boat began to dip under the sea and an ominous creaking started to emit from the hull. The last thing the cat saw before water covered his vision was Ciera leaning over to cut his last lifeline with a knife, her face completely expressionless. Then his monstrous captor plummeted back down unimpeded.

Under the sea it was dark. Dark like his sister's heart, and dark like his own. Before his lungs completely filled with water, Vasily had time for two thoughts:

 _I wish one of them had at least learned my real name. She would have loved to hear about this._

And,

 _I hope one of them kills her for me._

 _END OF ROUND 1_


	27. Mea Culpa

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Mea Culpa**

 _by: Tooley_

* * *

Beginning of Round 2

The ocean was full of sounds that night-the rumbling of dark waves, the dying crackles of fire upon the broken debris, and the sobbing of a weasel, clutched to a broken length of a mast.

Tooley cradled his head against the damp fur of his arm. He trembled as a wave splashed up against the mast, catching saltwater in his eye. His body rocked with another round of sobs, and he gripped the mast all the tighter.

 _Can't look up. Can't see._

It was gone. He'd tried to stop the fire. He'd tried to find Daggle. He'd tried everything, but nothing was left.

He felt his chest burn with anger at the hare he had fought. It was his fault! If he hadn't gotten in Tooley's way, he'd have reached Vasily. They could have stopped the fire! Then everything would be all right!

He shivered as another wave crashed into his side, and his anger fizzled into another round of wracking sobs. There was only one person he could blame, and it wasn't the hare.

He'd lost count of how many times he played the events over and over in his head. The desperation in Vera's eyes, the screams of corsairs and Waverunners alike, the fire reaching up to grasp the sails...

Something brushed against his back, and the memories of smoke and ruin faded away. Tooley turned with a choking gasp to see a lifeless, overturned body.

It was a ferret.

The cool air pierced through his chest. He stared for a long moment, then reached a trembling paw out.

"C-Cap'n...?" he managed to squeak out as he gripped the ferret's shoulder.

The ferret dipped into the water and came up face-first. A ragged breath escaped him when he saw the snake tattoo running down her neck. It wasn't the captain.

He tried to turn away, to return to the comfort of the mast, but he found himself staring at the ferretmaid's eyes. Dead, fixed, and frozen in an accusatory stare that only seemed to ask why fate had dealt her these cards. He recognized the look. The captain had looked at him with the same rage and pain in her eyes, cutlass raised high. She had known it was all his fault.

But the blade had not fallen. For whatever reason, the captain had spared him-given him a second chance.

Tooley reached up and touched a paw to the hole in his hat.

 _"But... if'n there's not... An' what then? What if yer fam'ly don't need ye anymore? What if ye ain't got a 'ome t' go back to no more?"_

"I guess the only thing you can do in that situation is just grab on to something, anything, and never let it go..."

The captain still needed him. She had to. He'd lost his home, but he could still find his family. And maybe... just maybe, they wouldn't want to kill him.

Tooley's exposed ear perked up suddenly. There was a sound. A voice. In the distance to his left, someone was shouting. He couldn't make out the words, but the sound was enough. He wasn't alone.

Tooley pushed aside the body of the ferret, then kicked off the mast. He weaved left and right through scattered debris, and the voice grew louder and louder. Soon, he emerged into a small clearing. Someone was thrashing about in the water, trying to grab onto something. The moonlight was enough to show that it was a rat, and Tooley gasped as the light illuminated a familiar, crooked eye.

"Daggle!" Tooley cried out, his strokes speeding up and sending water splashing all about him.

Daggle looked up just as Tooley crashed into him. Tooley wrapped his arms around the rat in a tight hug, a strange mixture of joy and sobbing issuing forth from him.

"Ow, ow, gerrof me!" Daggle yelped, shoving at Tooley.

Tooley let go, sniffling and wiping a drenched paw over his teary eyes. "I-I looked everywhere fer ye, an' when I couldn't find ye, I thought..."

"What, that I was dead?" Daggle grimaced. "Sure wishin' I were." He moved to swim away, but suddenly sucked in a sharp breath and bent over into the water.

Tooley rushed over and pulled at his friend, and the rat emerged with a string of hacking coughs and curses. Tooley guided him to a nearby broken ale cask, where Daggle collapsed upon its rough frame.

"Ye all right, mate?" Tooley asked, a worried paw steadying his friend.

"Me leg," Daggle wheezed, coughing out more water from his lungs. He dug his claws deep into the barrel, and Tooley swore he saw tears forming at the rat's eyes. "Cain't feel it, and it hurts somethin' awful when I move."

Tooley gnawed at his lip. There was no way Daggle could make the swim to the island. The thought occurred to him that he could push the barrel, but he dismissed it quickly. The water was too cold, and he knew he couldn't make it all the way to the island. They would drown.

Tooley felt a familiar feeling creep into him. They could die here, and that'd be the end of it. Tooley grit his teeth and shook his head. There was no time for thoughts like that. Daggle needed his help now.

"Wait 'ere," he said with a pat on the barrel's rim.

"Eh? Where ye goin'!" Daggle shouted, but Tooley was already paddling away.

He cast glances about the dark waves, ignoring the bodies as he swam up to any large chunk of debris he could find. A broken spar and a mesh of wood and rigging caught his attention, but he pressed on. There had to be some sort of suitable raft among the wreckage; he needed something sturdy and big , like...

His eye caught something to his right, and he stopped. He had to scrub at his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

It was one of the _Maiden's_ lifeboats, somehow still intact. And unoccupied.

Still not convinced it wasn't the saltwater playing tricks on him, he began paddling towards it. Then his speed increased. Soon, he was cutting his way through the ocean with wide strokes, afraid that it would somehow disappear if he did not reach it in time.

He gripped the edge of the boat, chuckling in disbelief. Then he froze, and his smile disappeared.

There was a squirrelmaid clinging to the other side of the boat.

Tooley felt his heart pound against the hull of the boat. He tried to steady his breathing. Squirrel's weren't good swimmers, were they? He'd heard that somewhere. He could dive underwater and lose her before-

No. No, he needed this boat. He couldn't run away.

"P-please, marm," Tooley began softly, "me mate's 'urt real bad, an' I... I dunno what ter do. 'E needs 'elp. Please..."

The squirrel furrowed her brow and regarded Tooley carefully. Her eyes flicked between him and the boat. She hesitated, then spoke, "How... is he hurt?"

Tooley blinked. "...eh?"

The squirrel sighed. "How is your friend hurt?" she repeated, then her expression softened slightly. "I'm a healer."

A healer. Tooley's expression brightened. Healers were always good. Not always good _beasts_ but they always helped beasts, didn't they?

"O-oh! Err... 'e said 'e can't feel 'is leg, and it 'urts real bad when 'e moves it."

The squirrel pursed her lips as she considered this. "Where is he?"

Tooley pointed. "Back thataways."

The squirrel was silent once more. She glanced back the way she had come, and seemed to be stuck in thought.

"Are... are ye gonna 'elp?" Tooley ventured hopefully.

The squirrel rapped her claws against the rim of the boat, then sighed. "I suppose I am. Grab a hold of the side."

Tooley watched as the squirrel gripped her side of the boat and began pushing it along.

"Oh, yes marm!" he said, quickly grabbing his own end and following her lead.

Together, they pushed the boat back through the wreckage. Tooley guided the squirrel back to the clearing where he had left Daggle, and he soon saw the rat come into view.

"Oy!" Tooley shouted, waving a paw.

Daggle looked up from his cask and a grin curled around his scarred face. "Great seasons, ye actually found-" Daggle stopped and the grin was gone. "Who's that?"

Tooley smiled. "Oh, she's 'ere t' 'elp!"

"She's one o' them _Waverunners_ ," Daggle spat. "'Ow many o' us y'think she's killed, eh?"

The squirrel frowned. "None, as a matter of fact. I _help_ beasts… even some such as yourself at times."

Tooley nodded helpfully. "Aye, she's a real 'ealer beast! A right fortune fer us, mate!"

Daggle's scowl only deepened. "Oh, aye, right fortune indeed..."

Tooley and the squirrel placed the lifeboat beside Daggle, and the squirrel swam over to the rat. She stopped several feet from him and pointed.

"I'll need you to remove that coat."

Daggle spat in the water and let his chin fall onto the cask. The squirrel rolled her eyes, then looked at Tooley.

"'E really likes 'is coat," Tooley said.

The squirrel cocked her head towards Daggle several times, glancing between Daggle and Tooley.

"Oh!" Tooley said, suddenly understanding the expectant look on her face. He swam over to Daggle and tapped a claw against the rat's shoulder. "Err, mate, ye should prolly do as she says. I mean, she needs t' see yer leg, so, um..."

Daggle snorted, flicking a pawful of water at Tooley. "Aye, aye, I ain't no infant."

He let go of the cask and went to remove his coat. Halfway through, he cried out and hit the water facefirst. Tooley and the squirrel both rushed over, each grabbing a shoulder and pulling him up. He emerged, spitting coughs and curses.

"Get him to the boat!" the squirrel shouted.

They reached the edge of the boat, and, after some back-and-forth, managed to shove Daggle up into it. His footpaws hung over the side, and Tooley stared at the way his right leg twisted and dangled at a strange angle.

"That... that ain't good, is it?" Tooley asked, chewing at his lip.

"What're ye yabberin' about?" Daggle growled, his head sticking up from the boat.

The squirrel made a clicking sound and her mouth tightened into a line. "It's a fracture."

"What's that mean?" the rat asked.

"It means you're going to be off your feet for some time."

Daggle soured at this, head dropping back into the boat with a groan.

The squirrel regarded the lifeboat, then looked at Tooley. "It also means we have a lot of rowing to do."

* * *

Tooley let out a heavy breath as he drew up his oar for another row. It had been several hours, or at least it felt that way. The remnants of the _Silver Maiden_ faded further and further behind them, yet the island ahead seemed to forever be on the horizon.

Tooley looked back to where Daggle was resting and trying - unsuccessfully - to get some sleep. His injured leg was propped up with two wooden shafts on either side, tied together with a sash the squirrel had been wearing around her waist. It was almost a comical looking thing, but Tooley couldn't help but wince whenever he glanced back.

He turned to the squirrel rowing beside him. She was breathing heavily, grunting with every push of the oar. Tooley opened his mouth to suggest they take a break, but he paused. The squirrel seemed to know what she was doing. She was no captain, but Tooley knew that beasts in charge didn't like hearing complaints and worries. It "sullied the crew's mural," it did.

Thankfully, he didn't have to ask. The squirrel called for a brief rest, and both rowing beasts collapsed back against the boat. Tooley let out a relieved sigh as he let the oar slip from his fingers and hang at the edge. He sucked at some newly formed blisters on his paws as Daggle shifted in the back.

"Don't surpose ye got any grub on ye?" Daggle muttered.

"No," the squirrel answered, not bothering to look at him. "That's why we need to get to the island, and soon."

Daggle snorted, but made no further comment.

Tooley glanced between the two in the silence that followed. "So, err, marm..." he said hesitantly.

The squirrel glanced up at him. "Crue."

Tooley paused, then nodded. "Oh, err... aye, we ain't got much of a crew t' speak of."

"No, that's my name. Crue Sarish. You don't need to keep calling me 'marm.'"

Tooley didn't quite understand, but nodded again. "Err, right. Miss Crue."

He returned to looking about the ship and sea, taking an interest in a vaguely anchor-shaped cloud in the sky.

"Did you have a question?" Crue asked.

Tooley shook his head. "Oh, nah, just wanted to ask what yer name was."

Tooley watched as the cloud anchor shifted with the winds, ending up looking more like a cross between a seagull and a rotten apple.

"What's your name?"

"None o' yer business,'" Daggle grumbled before he could respond.

Crue glared at the rat, but remained silent.

"Oh, it's Tooley," Tooley said with a toothy smile, "an' e's Daggle."

"Curse ye an' yer fortune, Tools," Daggle groaned, a paw clutched at his sweaty forehead.

Crue briefly smiled back at Tooley, then stared back out across the ocean, her eyes glazing over as if in thought.

It only seemed polite to ask her a question back, so Tooley thought. He tried to remember something about the Waverunners, but only came up with things like "d'ye know who killed Stitchtail wit' that axe?" or "did ye lose any mates?" After several seconds of scratching at his chin, he remembered something far less grim.

"So, err, that big beast wit' the sword slashin' about. Was he yer cap'n?"

Crue looked askance at him. "He was the captain, yes."

"Oh." Tooley's gaze trailed downwards. He was curious to ask more - he'd never seen a beast that big - but Crue was giving him a look that the captain sometimes gave him. It meant "shut up and go away." He couldn't really go away in the small boat, so he just settled for shutting up.

He looked away, and his gaze fell on Daggle's coat. It had been bundled up right behind where Tooley was sitting. His expression brightened as an idea crossed his mind. He dug a paw into the coat, feeling for the inner pocket before he pulled a weathered sack free.

"'ere," he said, handing it to Crue.

She slowly took the bag from him, eyes widening at the weight of it as she shifted it back and forth in her paws. "What's this?"

"Err, money. Fer all y'done fer us, it's only right t' pay ye, ain't it?"

Crue opened her mouth to respond, but the boat suddenly shifted hard to one side.

"'Ey!" Daggle shouted, "give that here!"

Tooley fell back against the edge of the boat, blinking in surprise as Daggle pushed himself up onto his paws. As soon as he tried to move forward, however, he let out a yowl and slammed back into his original spot.

The rat breathed hard through his nostrils, eyes fierce on Crue. "Lady, I ain't kiddin', give me that right now."

Crue's posture stiffened. "I appreciate the gesture, Tooley, but I don't think money will do me any good right now." She held out the bag, eyes narrowing at Daggle as she added, "Or any of us."

Daggle snatched the sack and stuffed it down into his shirt. He mumbled something as his breathing evened out. He kept a watchful eye on Crue, with the occasional frustrated glance shot Tooley's way.

Crue turned back to her oar and set her jaw. "We need to get rowing again," she said as her oar creaked into position.

"A-aye," Tooley said with a nod, then reached for his own oar.

The two began rowing once again, but he couldn't help but notice that they seemed to be going slower. He tried pushing harder but only ended up twisting them off course. Stopping for a moment, he looked at Crue. The squirrel's expression was hard, eyes focused on the horizon. She didn't even seem to notice that he'd put them slightly off course.

As soon as the boat straightened out, he gripped his oar once more. He gnawed at his lip, then paused.

Crue... that name reminded him of something. Sounds trickled into his head, accompanied shortly by multiple voices ringing out. Suddenly, he could see himself back in the slave galley on the _Maiden_ , running errands as the slaves belted out a hearty rowing song.

 _"Crew, crew, rowin' crew  
Move your paws one an' all,  
Row, row, me and you  
Heave and ho and away we go!"_

Tooley smiled at the song, bopping up and down to the rhythm of his strokes.

"What was that?"

He turned to see Crue staring at him, a curious smile poking at the corner of her mouth.

"Eh, what?"

"That song you were singing."

"Err, but I weren't-" he stopped himself. He didn't really understand it, but Crue seemed to be happier. He tried thinking back to the slave galley again. The words came back to him slowly, and he was aware of his mouth moving to the memory.

 _"Crew, crew, rowin' crew  
Heave your backs stay on track,  
Row, row, me and you  
Hoist the sea from the gallery!"_

Tooley looked over. Crue was smiling now, which caused Tooley to smile as well. He noticed her strokes had more effort in them, but that they dipped a little too low into the water and cut the wrong way. The memory still ringing in the back of his mind, he cleared his throat and sang,

"Crue, Crue, Missus Crue  
Twist yer oar a liddle more,  
Row, row, me an' yer  
Cut th' waves an' make 'em behave!"

Crue laughed and set about adjusting her grip on the oar. After several rows, she looked back at him. He looked at her strokes and nodded with a big grin.

"Crue, Crue, Missus Crue  
That'll do, that's th' truth,  
Row, row, me an' yer  
Fer a sqwerl yer a nat-ur-al!"

Tooley heard Daggle groan behind him, but he didn't mind. For a night that had gone so wrong, maybe things were about to get better.


	28. Never Shall We Die

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Never Shall We Die**

 _by: Ciera_

* * *

And then there were four. Well, three and half, considering the leveret.

They rowed more or less in silence, trying to find a happy middle ground between speed and stealth.

"Vera," Ciera said, refusing to meet the cook's eyes. "I'm sorry about Mister Iz- Vasily."

Vera continued rowing. "We weren't close."

Ciera didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it hadn't been sullen indifference. "I'm still sorry." She'd have added that he was a good beast, and a good quartermaster, but he hadn't actually _been_ either of those things.

Vera merely shrugged in response.

Having run out of ways to bolster crew morale – as well as crew to bolster the morale _of_ – Ciera turned her attention to the hares. They didn't seem liable to make a move while she was watching them, so she resumed rowing and monitored her peripheral vision closely. The bound one was glancing furtively at the young one. Not a surprise. The hare was a trained fighter, with the enemy captain in easy reach. He'd have been insane not to want to capitalize on the opportunity. Curiously, the younger one didn't seem interested in freeing his companion.

 _Is he simply obtuse? Or does he simply realize how unlikely it is that he'd get away with it?_

She hazarded a glance backwards, trying to discern whether the leveret was strategic and calculating, or merely rather dense. The young hare was completely inscrutable. If anything, he looked curious. Most woodlanders, and Waverunners in particular, tended to look at vermin with derision, even hatred – which made the leveret's curiousity… curious.

 _Little git probably was raised to think pirates are the scum of the earth, he's probably only ever seen us in battle. It's probably the first time he's seen a vermin who wasn't trying to cut his face off. I wonder what he thinks of us..._

Ciera turned back around, opting to ignore the leveret for the time being.

It would have been sensible to run both of them through. The most efficient way to deal an enemy was to turn him into a dead enemy, and all that. And, for that matter, newly-ventilated hares would prove marvellously handy in the event of another shark attack, and lighten the boat for more expedient escaping. It was at least a win-win, possibly even a win-win-win.

But it would be a typical pirate's victory – short-sighted and ultimately doing more harm than good. She and Blade had often groused about pirates' inability to take the long view of things. They'd even run an experiment once, just to prove their suspicions. They would place a gold coin in front of a pirate, and tell him that he could either take this gold coin now, or give it back to them and get two gold coins tomorrow. Most of them had nicked the coin before they'd even got to the second bit. One enterprising fellow had drawn a sword and demanded the other coin immediately. Not one bloody pirate had ever been capable of trading a shiny, gold, immediately real coin for an imaginary future one. They were too greedy, too suspicious to take the chance, so they took the cheaper certainty.

Ciera preferred to look at the future through the spyglass of reasoning. The Waverunners had outnumbered her crew very heavily. The explosion would have killed many below decks, and she'd seen a disheartening number of corpses in the waters surrounding the _Maiden._ Factor in that variants of Vasily's unfortunate demise were probably being enacted all over the immediate area, and it was probably safe to assume that the vast majority of the beasts who reached the shore would be Waverunners.

This was both a blessing and a curse. Waverunners had an armada at their back, which meant that Salamandastron ships would be coming to the island for rescue and a cut of the treasure. However, Waverunners wouldn't hesitate to kill them, especially if they were still under Stormstripe's command. Having been tossed overboard in the explosion, she had no idea if the Badger Lord had survived the _Phantom_ 's onslaught. With any luck, the mad giant was careening face-first into a shark's gullet, or taking repose on the seabed. But, if the Waverunners saw that they'd been merciful, they might be willing to consider reciprocating. It was a slim hope, but it was marginally better than nothing.

After an eternity of monotonous oarstrokes, the boat finally nosed into the sand with a muted crunch. The bound hare, unable to brace for impact, smacked his head on the side of the boat.

Ciera dropped her oar, stretched, and rubbed at her paws. They ached, and smarted with the merest deviation from the crabbed oar-gripping position they'd been locked into. The ferret vowed then and there that if she ever captained a vessel again, her oarslaves would be treated like royalty.

The shoreline was festooned with detritus. Large clumps of seaweed and bladderwrack were tangled up with debris from the battle. There was one lump, though, too rigid to be plant matter and too soft to be wood… Ciera hesitantly picked up her paddle, and prodded the shape. It shifted slightly, revealing an all-too-familiar bandaged paw.

"It's that cat from the _Deadwake_ ," Vera observed.

"Figgins." The poor little fool. She'd plucked him from Greyjaw's crew, done her best to care for the lad. She'd given him a second chance at life, shown him what it was like to be a crew member instead of a mere minion. But he still ended up as nothing but a meaningless casualty in a battle that had nothing to do with him.

 _Isn't that always the sodding way? You try to save the pirates, to show them a better path, and it ultimately doesn't matter. Blade couldn't save his precious empire, and I couldn't save a single child._

She saw it now. Piracy was like the tide. No matter how hard a beast pushed against it, the flow continued on its way. It couldn't be slowed, it couldn't be stopped. The tide always won out, no matter what. It was foolish to even try resisting it.

"I don't suppose you'd care to untie me now," groused the hare.

Wonder of all wonders, the leveret actually looked to Ciera for approval. She nodded curtly. "Very well, Mister…"

"Fildering Dillwithers," the hare sniffed.

"Mister Dilwithers. I'd like to bring to your attention the fact that we could have left you for dead at any point, and we chose not to."

"I'm fresh out of bloomin' 'Thank you' notes, ferret." The hare pronounced her species with a disdain usually reserved for things found living in long-forgotten trash heaps.

"You'll note that we're continuing on our present course of not killing you."

"Yeah?"

"…and we can change that course at any moment."

"I'm listening," said Dillwithers prudently. He hadn't been fully untied yet, and clearly didn't fancy his chances.

"I propose that we work together to get off this island. We can create some sort of signal, get help. There must be other Waverunners out there following Atlas."

"And then what, eh?"

"And then you can take us to the mainland, drop us off somewhere and let us go. We'll never trouble anybeast again."

"You expect us to believe that, ferret?"

"Pirates can change," she said as convincingly as she could. The phrase she'd once believed in so firmly now lacked almost any vestige of genuine conviction.

Dillwithers' response was curtailed by the appearance of several bodies amongst the trees. Any lingering hope Ciera might have had was quashed when the first figure revealed itself to be a rangy-looking hare. They were Waverunners.

Vera looked hesitant. "What's our plan now, Captain?"

Ciera blinked. "Plan?"

The vixen's head swiveled about conspiratorially. "You know… for the woodlanders?"

"Well, I've got the last plan they'd ever expect," Ciera replied.

Her empty scabbard hit the sand. A little trickle of sandy seawater oozed from it. Seconds later, it was joined by two concealed daggers.

Ciera raised her paws. "We unconditionally surrender."

Vera gave her a blank look. Ciera glared back meaningfully, and the vixen fished out a shiny kitchen knife, slick with the sheen of seawater. A crab mallet followed, which prompted curious looks from everybeast.

"Now what?" Convention would dictate that Ciera would have cleverly squirrelled away a third dagger, kept in an extra-special hiding spot _just in case_ the other two had to be relinquished in a grandiose gesture of surrender. Said dagger would be retrieved at precisely the most opportune moment, and used to carve a bloody path to freedom. Convention was going to be sorely disappointed.

The ferret shrugged. "Now they do what they like with us. If we're unfathomably lucky, they'll let us live long enough to be executed."

"What?"

"Look around you, Vera. We have no leverage. We have no ship. We have no allies. They've got both."

"Yes," said Vera carefully, "but they want to kill us." None of the Waverunners appeared keen to disprove this statement.

"So?"

"So?" Vera parroted incredulously.

"Look around you, Vera. I've got you, and you've got me. That's it. The tides are against us, and we might as well go where they take us.

"We've thrown away our weapons," Ciera proclaimed. "If any of you doubts me, feel free to search and take anything you want."

A burly hedgehog stepped forward, closely flanked by their former captive. Ciera stared at him impassively. She'd spared his life, and she just dared him to do her the discourtesy of killing her. The hedgehog's prodding paws revealed that Ciera's inventory contained exactly one ferret (gray, female), one jerkin (torn, wet), and one pair of boots (grossly impractical for swimming, would've been kicked off if she'd been any good at untying knots underwater). Another hare demanded that she remove the boots. As she tugged the sodden laces, she noticed a large bruise on the hare's footpaw, as though somebeast had stamped on it quite hard, and deduced that the request was probably personal rather than practical.

That done, the hedgehog moved on to Vera. Ciera noted that the fox looked distinctly uneasy.

The woodlander's paws patted Vera down roughly. The vixen's composure wavered a tad more with each thump, and positively oscillated when an errant poke encountered something hard in the folds of her apron.

"What've you got there?" the hedgehog demanded. Behind him, Dillwithers clutched one of Ciera's daggers, doubtlessly anticipating a last-ditch attack from the cornered vixen.

"It's nothing," Vera tried.

"Take off your apron."

"But, sir, I-"

"Now."

"Vera!" Ciera snapped harshly. "Let them have it."

Resistance was written across the vixen's features, but she acquiesced, and slipped the garment over her head. The hedgehog snatched it, and began feeling around the fabric. He squeezed one of the folds, and something solid moved beneath the cloth. After a bit of fiddling, he prised loose the object Vera had been trying to hide.

"Cor," said the hedgehog, revealing a silver amulet. A blood-red ruby set into the silver twinkled as the hedgehog turned the bauble about, examining it.

"Wonderful craftsmanship, that," observed one of the hares. "You think it's from Blade's hoard?"

"Give it back! It's mine!" Vera leapt forward and tried to snatch the amulet. The hedgehog held it fast.  
Blades began to bristle amongst the woodlanders.

"Let it go, Vera," Ciera growled. "You're going to get us killed."

"No! I need it!" Vera was pleading now, looking to Ciera for assistance.

"Vera, please." A note of desperation crept into Ciera's voice, unbidden. "We've lost everyone else. I don't want to lose you too." She was shocked to hear herself saying the words. More shocked, to find that they were true. It was the first time she'd ever allowed herself to admit to a crewbeast that they had actual tangible meaning to her, beyond their day-to-day function.

"Please, Vera, just let them have it. It's… just a thing."

Vera's ears flattened. "But it's not just a thing. It's important."

"Important?" The embers of a smouldering fire were suddenly fanned back into flame, and it burned with a vengeance. "You pirates and your _sodding_ treasure!" Ciera spat venomously. "Blade and I were right, you lot are worse than magpies! We wasted seasons of our lives trying to help you, and what do you do? You throw your own lives away! You drag yourselves and the rest of the crew down to the bottom of the ocean, weighed down by all of the shiny rocks in your pockets! What good will it do when you're dead? Useless bloody halfwits!"

At this point, it would have been conventional for Ciera and Vera to exchange a knowing glance, escalate the conflict even further, make as if to strike one another and then _conveniently_ miss and hit their enthralled captors. This element of surprise would have been the catalyst which allowed them to prevail against the nonsensical odds, interspersing their attacks with witty banter all the while. But Vera merely glared, and convention batted zero for two.

The vixen refused to wilt under Ciera's blistering tirade. Instead, she met the ferret's gaze and slowly released the amulet. The sheer simplicity of the act made Ciera regret her outburst. At the same time, she couldn't help but respect the vixen for refusing to be cowed. On some level, she even admired Vera. She made a mental note to commend vixen for having such backbone, in the event that they survived the next five minutes. Of course, backbone didn't matter much if the skull it supported was hollow. Vera's refusal to cooperate had effectively undermined their surrender, and jeopardized the only reason to keep them alive.

There was a polite cough.

"Excuse me," said the leveret earnestly. "Did you really know Captain Blade?"

Ciera realized then that Vera wasn't the only one with a hollow skull. Thoughts flashed through her mind like rapid-fire lightning. The key was right there. It was right _there,_ and she'd missed it on the first go around. The hares had thought that Vera's amulet was part of Blade's hoard. That meant that they believed the treasure was real. All this time, she'd assumed it was a trap. But Stormstripe's ship had been blown to bits too, hadn't it? Then again, perhaps Atlas simply hadn't told his minions about the ruse. Either way, it was all academic. The important thing, the _truly_ important thing, was that the hares _thought_ the treasure was real.

She knelt to the young hare, smiling. "Yes, I knew Blade. He and I were very good friends." She paused, just long enough to add the desired emphasis to her next words, well aware that it could mean the difference between life and death. "In fact, I dare say I knew him better than anyone."


	29. Get In Line

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Get In Line**

 _by: Chak_

* * *

The mouse sat on the beach, staring across open sea while the squirrel chained to him lay curled up in a tight, sandy ball, still sleeping. The water reflected soft, pastel colors, and the waves lapped gently across the beach, caressing the bodies of several dead mariners.

A small dirk dropped into the sand beside the mouse and Chak nodded at Minstrel.

"Ye be havin' that. No tellin' what lies ahead." He gestured at the squirrel. "But keep it ta yerself. I bain't be trustin' o' that one. He be havin' murder in 'is eyes since day one."

The mouse reached out a finger and touched the little dagger carefully before lifting it experimentally in his paw and tucking it away. He gave Chak a strange look then grew silent and grave, hugging his knees close.

Chak cleared his throat and brushed at his nose, thrusting out a slab of broken wood.

"I be thinkin' mayhaps ye know how ta write?"

Minstrel regarded the slave driver and nodded, opening his mouth at last with a single parched word.

"Aye."

Chak sat down beside the mouse. He gripped the smooth plank of wood, stained silver gray with years of wear. "I think it be part o' the ship."

Minstrel stared ahead.

The sea otter ran a scarred paw reverently across the surface. "D'ye . . . think ye could fit fifty-nine lines on it, mate?"

That earned the mouse's attention. He reached for the wood and began to inspect the surface, pulling out the dirk again to make a small nick in one corner.

"I be thinkin' all morning, an mosta the night, tryin' ta remember 'em all. When I picture the rows, it be easiest."

Minstrel held the tip of the blade against the plank.

"Firs' there be Gaff an' Boddle across from ye, then Jumpkin, Addle, Miff, an Snap behind ye…"

Minstrel carved out the first six names carefully: Atcus, Manny, Treefolio, Dash, Harlan, and Reinekin.

Next, "Chip, Gilly, Bluster, an' Hodgepodge" became "Theodore, Tiral, Cornelius and Warren."

They continued down the list until all fifty-nine names were scratched into the board, covering both front and back while leaving space at the bottom where it could be pushed into the ground. Once Scrufftail was awake, they found a relatively sheltered area at the edge of a stand of trees and pounded it solemnly into the soil. Chak jerked as he remembered something, reaching deep into his pocket to retrieve a small, gleaming object. He pushed the vole's cherished pendant into the top of the marker so it stuck.

Minstrel then sang another song – a sad, mournful dirge that echoed hauntingly across the beach. Chak had never heard the like, and closed his eyes as the sorrowful melody stirred his crusty soul:

Cold rolls the sea o'er  
hallowed bones

Who they were no  
one will know

Sleep my friends  
Thy souls are free

Journey through  
e-ter-ni-ty

No more sickness  
No more pains

No more scourging  
No more chains

No more love  
nor hope-filled dreams

No more warmth  
of soft sunbeams.

Search in vain  
wife, son, and friend

Thou shall never  
know their end

'til Dark Forest's  
re-ti-nue

beckons thee  
to join them too.

Silence was the only appropriate response. The ebb and flow of minor notes awakened long-subdued memories in the slave driver – feelings rather than imagery. He put a paw to the mouse's small shoulder and squeezed gently, then turned and walked away.

So far all the bodies Chak had found were bloated and cold. A few had items worth salvaging such as daggers and a few coin pouches, though Chak was unsure how much good coins would do him at this point. Even if he found the treasure of Captain Blade, it would benefit him little with no way to spend it.

To travel the sea one needed a ship, and to build and sail a sea-worthy vessel, one needed a crew. At least one ship's worth of beasts had been stranded in the water last night - maybe even two. There _had_ to be other survivors.

Chak peered down the beach and thought he saw something move in the tide. He glanced back at Minstrel and Scrufftail who were trying to break the chain between them by pounding it with rocks. They appeared to be arguing.

"Oy! Minstrel! Come 'ere!"

The two slaves hesitated, then Minstrel started to make his way down the slope, pulling along his reluctant companion.

 _At least one of them listens._

When they stood before him Chak reached for the chain to ascertain the damage. The links glinted brighter where grime had been chipped off, but otherwise they were unaffected. Chak frowned. He noted the furless, raw-rubbed skin around the slaves' ankles and directed the two beasts to follow him over to one of the bodies he had already plundered. He pulled the dead weasel's shirt loose and tore several strips of fabric away, handing them to the mouse and squirrel.

"'Ere, wrap these round yer ankles ta keep the manacles from chafin'. That be slowin' us down." He grabbed the loose end of the chain and pulled it up from the sand, "Ye prob'ly don' wan' this draggin' behind ye either…" He paused, looking down at the bracket they had worked so hard to yank from the floorboards.

The long, sharp nails were gone.

Chak glared at Scrufftail, who refused to meet his eyes. The otter growled and seized the squirrel by the collar, patting him down until he felt the long spikes poking through his pockets. Chak snarled, removing four nails total. He flung them angrily into the surf then backhanded the squirrel who grunted and spun, landing awkwardly in the sand.

"Be glad yer chained ta a better beast, ye backstabbin' bilge scallop, or I'd be givin' ye a thrashin' ye bain't be walkin' away from!" He kicked the squirrel in the gut for good measure, knocking the wind out of him. Scrufftail gasped for air while the mouse looked on and Chak snorted with annoyance, gazing down the length of the beach once more.

"Minstrel, get 'im up. We be needin' ta move."

Chak spotted a piece of dark driftwood – smooth, yet sturdy – and picked it up. A knife was good to have, but a club sat more comfortably in the slave driver's paw. He brushed off the sand and inspected the new tool before sliding it to hang in the empty loop at his side.

As the trio hiked further down the shore, it became more obvious that there were figures moving in the distance, and, after a few more steps, the shape and back spikes of a hedgehog were easy to distinguish. For an instant Chak hoped to think that the slave, Hodgepodge, had somehow freed himself and made it out of the ship, but of course that was not true. The hedgehog was far too well-dressed. Drawing closer, they saw that the hedgehog seemed to be trying to revive a mouse – a companion from the Waverunner ship, no doubt.

Perhaps Chak could start rebuilding his slave crew…

It was easy for the hedgehog to spot their approach, yet he did not seem apprehensive. In fact he seemed welcoming, giving Chak a friendly, albeit somber nod. He held an open flask out to the mouse, who seemed to be dry retching.

"You swallowed a lot of salt, young lass. Have some fresh water. It'll help."

Chak realized then with a start that the mouse was actually no mouse at all but rather a small rat, her fat tail stretching out limply behind her. The strangeness of the situation gave him pause, until the hedgehog stood to greet him more formally.

"Nice to see we're not alone out here." He extended a paw. "Robert Rosequill."

Perhaps it was the fact that Chak was an otter that made this beast so trusting. Maybe he thought Chak was a slave himself – just another galleybeast. The sea otter determined to drive home a stronger first impression. He pulled the club-like piece of driftwood from his belt.

"Minstrel, tell this Waverunner pincushion who I be."

The mouse stepped up, jerking a nod at Chak. "Sir, this is Chak Ku'rill, otherwise known as 'Chak the Cruel,' officer of the Silver Maiden and overseer of the slaves therein."

"I see." Robert frowned and dropped the paw. "So then, if you're no longer _on_ your ship, that would mean you're no longer under his authority. Right, mate?" He winked at the mouse but the mouse's face remained an indifferent mask.

"That would be a hasty assumption."

Robert whistled at the remark. "He's done a number on you, hasn't he? What's your name, friend?"

Chak stepped between the hedgehog and mouse, holding the driftwood club in a threatening gesture. "I'd prefer it if ye didn't banter with me slaves, hog…'less ye be wishin' ta join 'em." He pointed a claw at the rat who had risen to her feet to gawp at him. "Who be this varmin?"

"Plink the Terrible!" squeaked the young searat boldly, "daughter o' Captain Scarcrab the Fearsome!"

Chak smirked. "Oh ye air, air ye? Fittin' name fer a corsair. How be ye endin' up wi' this bumpkin?"

Plink quickly distanced herself from the hedgehog. "He sneaked up on me while I was recoverin' from the swim ashore. Prolly intendin' ta finish me off."

Chak grunted. "An where be ye comin' from?"

Plink puffed with pride, smirking up at Chak. "I've been aboard the Zephyr this whole voyage, eatin' the mad badgerlord's own scones right out from under his scurvy snout!"

"Arrrr," Chak growled his approval. "Well yer welcome ta travel wi' me fer a while. We be headin' down the beach ta see what we be findin'. Mayhaps more o' me shipmates."

The otter ignored the presence of Robert, having mentally dismissed him. He could either fall in line or rot with the other bodies on the beach.

"Aye!" The rat stumbled across the uneven sand in her enthusiasm to begin the march. "D'ye think a lot of 'em survived? Or yer captain? What manner o' beast is he?"

Chak was not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed at the enthusiasm of the little beast. "Yarrr…we'll be seein' soon enough. An' the cap'n's a marm."

He started off down the beach, gesturing for the two chained slavebeasts to follow. They hurried obediently at his heels, heads down. Plink kept pace with the burly pirate, continuing to bombard him with questions.

After letting them walk a fair distance without him, the hedgehog finally decided to follow, trailing reluctantly after the vermin.

Chak smiled inwardly.


	30. I Do Heartily Repent

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **I Do Heartily Repent**

 _by: Plink_

* * *

Plink jogged a few steps to keep pace with the big sea otter, assessing him surreptitiously. His paws swayed at his sides, thick and scarred as old mallets. He must have fought scores of battles. Plink picked at a crusty spot on the hilt of her new dirk and aimed a hopeful smile at him.

"How'd ye get ta be a pirate, Chak?"

When she'd asked her slew of questions about the captain, Chak had grunted out answers aplenty. Now though, he fixed her with a dark look. Plink swallowed the other questions chasing on the first one's heels.

"That bain't any o' yer business, cully," he said, baring a glimpse of his yellowed fangs.

"M'only curious."

"Arrr - an' yer mouth be workin' harder 'n yer footpaws. Save yer breath."

Plink let out a frustrated sigh and marched, but there were so many uncomfortable things snagging her attention. Her throat was desperately parched and her legs were stiff and weary from swimming all through the night with that hedgehog following her. There were big tender places across her chest and belly from when she'd been blasted off the ship. The sun was in her eyes. The sand grew hot under her footpaws.

And whenever she was quiet, she would spot another corpse on the beach ahead and her belly would ache. Plink refused to doubt that she had seen Scully in that row boat, but her mind kept stuttering across the events of the previous night, images of beasts stabbed and sliced and smashed into unnatural shapes.

The rat clenched her teeth. They meant nothing to her, those beasts. Beasts died every day, and a pirate had to have the grit it took to speed them along. It was just her worry for Scully that made her stomach roil as if she'd eaten rancid meat. That was all.

Plink fidgeted. She stole a glance back at the hedgehog, Robert. He had taken up a broken oar and was swinging it like a walking stick as he followed after them, though he didn't seem to be limping or anything. Robert noticed her stare and his snout tugged up with that same pleasant smile. Plink snapped back around to face forward.

A moment later, she turned again to look at the slaves. She'd never seen slaves before. She hadn't really given their existence much thought. The sight of them now - the depth of their scars, the bends in their backs, their patchy and lusterless fur - was unsettling. But pirates weren't unsettled by such things.

Plink opened her mouth to ask Chak where the other slaves were, but didn't get the chance. The mouse, Minstrel, began humming along with the beat of their steps, then launched into a cheery song.

"March march march  
or else the sun'll cook ya dry!  
The beach beach beach  
is but a pan on which to fry  
when the sun sun sun  
is just a de-vil's eye,  
ya'll either march march march  
or you'll bake up like a pie!"

Minstrel shot Plink a grin, pumping his elbows as he followed his own advice, and the young rat couldn't help but smile back. There was something infectious in his rhythm and it was easy to sing along in the parts that repeated - so she did. The song went on for a few verses and then the mouse paused and glanced at Chak before switching to a new tune.

"Oh! Once we were ten brothers,  
ten brothers strong as oak!  
We scrapped and laughed together,  
each one a handsome bloke!

But ten's too many brothers - me ma can tell ya that!  
So she sent me oldest brother off t'be eaten by a cat!

Now Ma, she felt just awful,  
she'd lost her eldest son!  
But nine's a lot of mouthfuls,  
when all ya got is one.

She did all she could think to do but there was nothing fer it -  
nine's too many brothers too, so th' next went to a ferret!"

Plink chortled along through the next verse, bolstered by Chak's rumbling laugh. She picked up a more spirited pace, humming along.

"Now Ma, she was a pious beast,  
she prayed most every day-  
seven sons need quite a feast  
to keep the pangs at bay.

She begged the spirits for some food - ole Vulpuz answered back,  
he said, 'Tidy up your eldest lad, I'll trade 'im for a snack!'"

Delighted as she was with the song, the mention of food made Plink realize just how hungry she'd become. She gnawed her lip through a few verses and sucked on a button from her pocket, but it made no difference. Finally, she peered up at Chak. "Matey, when d'ya think we might look fer somethin' ta eat?"

The upward turn of his mouth hardened. "If ye be wantin' vic-tu-als, ye'd best go forage fer yerself."

Plink peered up the beach at the shadowy forest. "Ain't ye hungry, too?"

"We bain't wastin' the cool o' the day muckin' around."

"It ain't so cool, now… Can't we just-?"

All in one motion, Chak stopped walking, turned a hard eye upon her, and struck her with an easy backhand. It hit square in the little rat's snout and she sat down hard on the sand.

"I told ye," Chak said, and Plink didn't dare look away from his stern eyes, "to save yer breath."

Robert was shouting something as he ran toward them, but it seemed very far away from where Plink sat. She gave a jerky nod and watched Chak turn and carry on as if nothing had happened. His slaves followed, the squirrel glaring daggers at his back while Minstrel glanced down at Plink almost apologetically.

They were of a height, she and the mouse, but he seemed so much bigger, and older, from down on the ground. After a few steps, he faced forward and resumed his song:

"...She tucked us in a pie crust, and kissed us on our heads  
and would've thrown us in the oven if I hadn't up and said..."

Plink watched them walk away, then swiped the reflexive tears from her cheeks as the hedgehog arrived and crouched beside her.

"You alright there, Miss Plink?"

She scrambled to her footpaws, looking anywhere but at the other beast. "I'm fine. He just got the jump on me."

Robert rose slowly, his mouth clamped tight. He gestured pointedly at his own snout.

Plink dabbed her muzzle and found a little blood had leaked out. She dug a stained handkerchief from her jacket pocket.

"Don't you pay that villain no mind," Robert said. His eyes were locked on Chak's diminishing back. "Grown beast strikin' a child. Despicable."

Plink pressed the cloth to her snout and watched the hedgehog watch the otter. "I ain't a child," she snapped, but the viciousness she had aimed for was diminished by her obstructed nostrils. She jammed the handkerchief back in her pocket and snarled. "I ain't a child! I'm a pirate."

The fat old hedgehog looked at her then, but not the way he would look at a pirate. "S'at so? My mistake, Miss Plink."

"Aye! It is your mistake!" The young rat scowled at him as nastily as she could, then scurried after Chak and his slaves. She slowed a ways behind them, just near enough to hear Minstrel singing about a "lovely little mousey girl," and figured that was close enough to prove her point.


	31. Thorn in My Side

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Thorn in My Side**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

It had taken every bit of patience Crue had to convince Daggle not to lay down and sleep the rest of the night. Scowling at the injustice, Daggle allowed Tooley to help him to his feet and support him as the three took off down the beach.

Despite the screams and shouts and wailing still sounding in her head from the night's battle, the gentle rhythm of the waves made them seem a little quieter for the time being. Much of the reason she'd convinced the two to keep walking was to put off the dreams that would likely come if she closed her eyes. Fortunately the sand under Crue's footpaws was chilled, and coupled with her lightly bruised ribs served to help keep her awake with every step.

They walked along the slightly firmer sand that resulted from the low tide, leaving an odd set of footprints to be washed away when the ocean returned to cleanse the shore again. The moonlight revealed the strange trees and tall grasses that lined the shore, whose shadows then hid vast mysteries of what lay further inland. In the dim light, the trunks of the odd trees were rough and bare, sporting a crown of huge leaves that were longer than she was. She toyed with the idea of climbing one for a better look once the sun came back up.

The longer they walked, the more debris they came across. Wooden planks, bits of rope, and the occasional strip of canvas lay deposited on the shore, still wet from their excursion. Crue picked up a few bits of rope that appeared viable, tying one longer piece around her waist in lieu of the sash she'd recently employed and putting shorter strands in one of her apron pockets. The three carefully avoided getting too close to the cold, stiff bodies that were scattered in amongst the wreckage.

Crue made the mistake of looking straight at a motionless hare, his uniform tattered and his eyes staring lifelessly toward the treeline. She stared at the face of the soldier, not recalling who it was until she looked down and saw the bandage covering his left paw. She knew this injury… the careless soldier who'd been to see her not a few days ago. For a moment she wondered if he still had some of her comfrey in one of his pockets, but dismissed the thought.

Her mind was drawn back to the moment the sea nearly claimed her own life. In the attack that came from the mysterious dark ship, she had been thrown back in a wave of air and debris, sending her careening back toward the starboard side of the pirate vessel. She would have been fine had one of the beasts who'd fallen beside her not panicked and kicked her over the side in the mad scramble to regain his footing. The taste of salt filled her open mouth as she hit the water with more of a thud than a splash, and before she could steady herself, a chunk of the railing came loose and plummeted toward her. It caught on her emergency satchel and began to carry her off toward the dark depths below.

Desperate to free herself and unable to do so with her claws alone, she reached into the satchel and clutched the knife she knew lay inside. Dragging her knife through the water, she sliced through the shoulder strap and once freed, madly pushed her paws through the water in an effort to reach the surface. Her chest burned with holding what breath she had left and her heart beat furiously in near panic. Her vision began to fade to black just before her head burst through the water and she gasped in a fresh lungful of life-giving air. Once she regained some of her senses, she cried for help, but her cries were weak and drowned out in the chaos raging above her. The screaming within the ship grew in intensity and...

She looked away from the soldier. A proper burial was what he deserved, and it grieved her that she had neither the time nor the strength to do so. She picked up her pace a touch so that a few tears could fall without her companions watching.

"Yew okay, miss?" she heard Tooley ask.

Crue was sorely tempted to maintain her composure and show the weasel that she was fine, but she found herself too tired to pretend. Her ears lowered slightly as she took a deep breath. "No, not really."

Several more seconds passed before another question reached her ears. "Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"I suppose."

"'Ow long 'av ye been wit' that cap'n o' yers?"

"Not even two weeks, truth be told, and it was a rare event to see him. I've been on a pawful of ships in the last ten seasons, but mostly in the employ of merchant vessels, cargo ships, and one _incredibly_ tedious pleasure cruise... If I'd known that my employer was a warmongering savage, I would have stayed in port."

"Y' didn't see th' signs?" Daggle asked. His voice mocked her as he stated, "A beast o' yer great _ed-jy-ca-shun_ didn't know that Atlas was one plank shy of a boat?"

Crue looked back toward Daggle and scowled. "I knew he was a beast of an awful temper, but I wasn't hired by Atlas himself… And who's the beast who signed up to sail to a 'haunted' island guarded by a 'ghost ship' for a pile of shiny rocks?"

Daggle growled between his teeth. "Ain't no fun wi'out a bit o' risk."

The squirrelmaid managed to keep herself from kicking Daggle's injury. "Glad you're having fun…"

They continued on in silence for a stretch, which suited Crue just fine. However, it may not have suited Tooley because he spoke up again, his voice a mixture of caution and curiosity, "So, 'ow'd you get t' be a 'ealer?"

"Someone dear to me couldn't be saved when she was young, so I took it upon myself to learn why." Crue wondered if she should be sharing her history with these strangers, but she found that she didn't care. The more she spoke, the less she had to be alone with her thoughts. She told Tooley about her parents sending her to apprentice under abbots in Redwall and how she'd taken it upon herself to study under traveling healers. She went on to discuss some of her travels through the countryside and along the coast, learning from local healers and elders about local herbs and remedies, and careful to avoid the smoke swingers and spell-weavers.

"Oy, Tools," Daggle spoke up, interrupting her train of thought. "Set me down o'er there fer a bit. Our new slavedriver 'ere may not need rest, but she ain't the one with one o' those 'frak-chers.'"

They had been walking for nearly an hour and when Crue thought about it, she was surprised the rat - and Tooley, who half-carried him - had made it this long. Still, she chafed at his hostility and insults. Nothing she wanted to say would help the situation, and would only spurn Daggle on to speak more viciously, so she kept her mouth shut and silently nodded her agreement to stop for a bit.

They rested for about a half-hour, with Crue occasionally engaging in innocuous conversation. Tooley and Daggle spent some of the time bantering about their past together. The latter tended to use such specific turns of phrases that Crue knew only the two of them really understood the scope of their exchange, and she was largely left in the dark regarding whatever it was they were reminiscing over. In the meantime, she checked his leg, dissatisfied with the swelling and wishing she had something… anything that would alleviate some of it.

Eventually they continued their trek along the beach, Crue telling herself they would stop for Daggle more often. In the end, he would be better off getting some sleep in a more stable location than the sandy shore, preferably somewhere with some fresh water in which he could soak his leg.

During the next leg of their journey, Crue's ears were besieged by Daggle's near constant commentary on his current state of pain, tiredness, and hunger. Mostly hunger, and the more he spoke of it, the more Crue was aware of how long it had been since she'd had a meal. Tooley did his best to try and curtail a bit of Daggle's harsh criticisms, but there was only so much the weasel could do.

"I bet if Vera were 'ere, Tools, she'd have an idea of how to make a crusty squirrel in'te somethin' palatable, eh?"

Tooley seemed shocked by the suggestion. Crue spun and gripped the rat's arm, very nearly breaking the skin with her claws. Her face drew close to his and her lips began to pull back in a snarl.

"Please, Miss Crue, e's not usually like this," Tooley stated as he began to steer his friend toward a fallen tree on which Daggle could sit. "'Ow 'bout we stop again fer a bit."

Crue let go and turned away, walking swiftly away without a response. With no one to legitimately complain to she muttered under her breath, "If his leg's hurting him that bad, I could always break his arm for a change of pace… Would make _me_ feel better anyway."

After another brief respite, Crue felt they should be moving on. The longer she sat, the more tired she grew. Fortunately by this time the sun had just begun to make its entrance, making it just a bit easier to see where they were at and where they were going. She somehow managed to convince them to travel one more stretch of the journey, the sincere expression of pain on Daggle's face prompting a twinge of sympathy in Crue's heart.

When they stopped to rest for a third time, it was growing just bright enough that some of the sun was making it through the trees now. She knew they would have to find water soon, and unless they stumbled across a river that led into the sea, their best bet was to travel inland. Knowing that Daggle would likely not be able to go much farther, she sat him down beneath one of the tall trees. She conveyed her plan to them, explaining that she would leave them there while she surveyed the area.

"I'll go wit' ye, miss," Tooley volunteered. "Two eyes are better 'en… I mean…"

Crue nodded, the corner of her mouth curling up at the well-intentioned aphorism. "Considering our patient isn't going to walk off, I think that's a great idea. Just be careful what you pick up. We have no way of knowing what'll kill us here… aside from pirates, right?"

Tooley stared at her for a moment before he let out an amiable laugh that Crue found pleasant. She wondered how this weasel ended up on a corsair vessel and a bosom friend to the prickly rat to her right.

"'Cept your pirate hun'in chums," mumbled the prickly rat.

"True."

The two made their way into the strange forest, having agreed to split up and return to Daggle before too much time had passed. Crue stepped through the dry, sturdy grass that grew up to the treeline, finding it fairly disagreeable to her bare footpaws, but the further she went inland, the softer it grew. Eventually, the dim light that penetrated the floor of the odd forest revealed strange and beautiful flowers in vibrant colors, odd shapes, and both neutral and fragrant scents. She found these to be a good sign that water could be found somewhere nearby, if she could only find it.

She carefully plucked a few of the flowers and their leaves and placed them in one of the pockets of her apron to inspect more closely when she had the time. A couple of times she nibbled on the edges of a couple of the plants, but many of them were bitter and sour and far from palatable. Knowing there was likely a reason they seemed inedible, she decided not to try more, instead keeping her eyes to the ground for something that might be a little more familiar to a woodlander.

Her hunger and thirst grew with every passing minute as she trudged through more dense foliage, as did her body's desire to lay down and sleep. [Her eyelids grew heavier, though not heavy enough to keep her from trudging on], but their weight distracted her long enough that she didn't notice the large stone obstruction until she almost ran right into it. Startled by the sudden appearance of the pillar, her eyes widened and she looked around at the strange space she'd somehow wandered into.

The stone was cut and carved with strange figures and patterns and lines. Looking just past it, she saw that the nearby plants camouflaged the depression in the ground, which Crue surely would have fallen into had she not been stopped. The floor of this part of the forest had been lined with those long, compound leaves that crowned the tops of the trees and their crushed appearance made it apparent that something had been walking on them in recent times. Two lines of yellow flowers made a small path that led to the pillar, recently placed judging by their lack of wilt.

 _We're not alone on this island,_ she realized with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity as she bent down to make herself as unseen as she could. The fur on her tail stood on end and it was all she could do to keep it from twitching. Her ears strained for any sound that another beast was nearby and her nose lifted to try and catch a stray scent on the wind that blew from behind her toward the clearing. After a minute of waiting, she was fairly certain that nothing was waiting to jump out at her and she ventured forth.

She stepped lightly, doing her best not to disturb anything. Despite the developed appearance of this area, she could see no clear path that led away or anything nearby that would alert one to its presence, and she doubted whether or not she could find this place again when she left. When she turned to look up at the stone pillar, she was surprised to see that part of the stone had been cut away to make a small shelf of sorts. Atop this shelf was a collection of items that left the squirrelmaid both disgusted and intrigued.

A small stone knife was covered in blood. Big, fat grubs had been sliced down the middle and laid open to the elements. Skewered on several thin pieces of wood were large beetles, some the color of gold and some as black as the heart of her former commander. One twitched half-heartedly before going motionless once more and Crue grimaced. A small snake lay on the stone, its head nowhere to be seen. Unfamiliar yellow, orange, red, and brown fruits and a few small gold coins were scattered among the offerings, completing the scene.

 _Primitives,_ she told herself as she examined the altar. She tentatively reached forward until her claws gripped the handle of the knife. Pulling it back toward her she wondered if it would be better to leave it and keep the illusion that no beast had been there, or take it in the event that the island's inhabitants were less than cordial. Having lost the one from her satchel, she made the decision to put it in her pocket, as it was unlikely their presence would go unnoticed for long.

She nearly screamed when she heard a beast trudging through the forest. She gripped the knife in her pocket and prepared herself for action when a familiar figure stepped through the leaves and tumbled down into the clearing.

"Tooley!" Crue whispered, releasing her hold on the knife and moving to retrieve the weasel's hat. When she looked up, she took note of the curled stump of his right ear and for a moment wondered where he'd earned that. "Are you okay?"

"O' course, miss!" Tooley replied when he regained his footing. "Th' ground just weren't where m' footpaw were." Taking his hat back from her, he took a moment to peer around the clearing. He stepped up to the stone shelf, examined it for a moment, and then proceeded to reach toward it. In a cheery tone he stated, "A right lucky find, Miss Crue!"

Unsure the weasel understood what he was reaching toward, she asked, "Don't you see what this is?"

Tooley grabbed one of the red fruits and one of the skewers. He passed the first to the healer and then proceeded to take a bite out of one of the helpless beetles. After a few crunches that the healer found rather off-putting, he replied, "Breakfast?"

Crue wanted to put the fruit back, but her belly betrayed her with a vicious roar. As much as she wished to leave the area undisturbed, she couldn't overcome the logic that this would keep her alive at least a bit longer. On top of that, if the fruit truly proved edible, she'd have a better idea of what to look for in the future. "Let's take what we can carry and get back to Daggle. It's not safe here."

She stuffed her pockets with the fruits and Tooley took the rest. They walked quickly back in the direction of the beach and then in the direction she was sure they'd left the rat.

Sure enough, Daggle was waiting for them where they expected, a scowl on his face and something that looked like a huge green nut in one paw. When they grew closer, he shouted, "This tree 'ere tried t' kill me while you two were off on your liddle _adventure_."

Crue looked at the ball and up at the tree. "What a shame. I suppose the trees here have bad aim."

Daggle scowled. Crue permitted herself a small grin before the three went about partaking in the small meal they'd stumbled upon. The fruit was split between all of them, but Crue outright refused to put a bug in her mouth. It wasn't a large meal, but they found the exotic food to quite delicious and it was enough to restore some of their vitality.

Once they had finished, Crue scrubbed her paws with sand to take some of the stickiness off. She stood up, more hopeful that they could survive, and shared the idea she'd developed over breakfast. "We still need to find water, and I have a feeling that it's not much farther. We should get moving before it gets too hot."

"You gonna carry me? Ain't walkin' no more with this leg o' mine."

Crue was about to respond scathingly when she came up with an idea. Together, she and Tooley gathered together a number of the huge branches that had fallen to the ground and she used some of the rope she'd collected to tie them together. Once that part of the work was done, the two of them helped Daggle to lie carefully on the leaves. "Now hold still or you're going to fall off."

Crue took one of the ropes and Tooley took another, and after some practice - and causing Daggle to spill out onto the sand - the two were able to drag the rat across the sand in their makeshift sled. The already tired beasts were soon wearied, but they kept going just a bit more, and then just a bit more. Just when they were about to stop for another break, Crue spotted what she was looking for: a small stream that ran down into the ocean.

Rejoicing, she and Tooley dragged the rat the rest of the way. Crue dropped the rope and moved forward to check the stream, and sure enough, the water was fresh and clear and cool. She drank just enough to sate her thirst before turning to help Daggle into the water. Instructing him to keep his leg in the flow to help cool his injury, she surveyed the area.

Upstream a short ways, she saw a small clearing in the trees and decided that this would be a good a place as any to set up their camp. Relieved at having something go right for a change, her body reminded her just how tired she was. If she didn't sleep soon, she would be no use to anyone, but she was loathe to sleep out under the elements. Instead, she took the longest piece of rope she had and strung it between two trees that grew relatively close together. Then she gathered more of the tall leaves and began to prop them up against the rope.

Tooley caught on to her plan and began to assist her. He, too, was showing the strain of the day, and yet he worked diligently until their makeshift shelter was complete. He then turned to her and said, "I jus'... wanted t' thank ye again fer helpin' Daggle, miss. 'E's th' only friend I got left 'ere."

Crue sighed, but his words of appreciation left a warm glow in her heart. "I'll keep doing what I can. Right now we could all do with a bit of rest."

They helped Daggle into the shelter, and though it was a bit cramped and warm with the three of them all together, none of them had any trouble falling asleep.

* * *

Crue's ears caught the faint sound of voices and her blissfully dreamless sleep was snatched from her grasp. When she stepped out of their shelter, she judged by the sun that it was an hour or two before noon. Once her eyes readjusted to the brightness, she was able to look down the shoreline at small group of figures headed in their direction. It was difficult to make out exactly who they were at a distance, but one was definitely tall and stocky, and another was slightly on the rotund side.

Adjusting her headband, she stepped back toward the shelter and awoke her two companions. "Someone's coming!"

Tooley and Daggle's eyes fluttered open, but once her words sank into their ears, they woke up a bit more quickly. Tooley helped his friend out of the shelter, as they all wanted to know who else had survived last night's ordeal. They crossed the small stream and headed up to meet them. Once they were a bit closer, Crue recognized one of them as her associate, Robert Rosequill, which brought a smile to her face. The others she couldn't place.

The tall, stocky one she'd noticed before turned out to be a sea otter, but his garb and air of annoyance was proof enough that he was not on her side. She turned to Tooley and asked, "Who is that fellow there?"

"Oh, that's Chak! 'E's…" Tooley's words trailed off, but he reached into the air to wave enthusiastically and shouted out, "Ahoy!"

Tooley's joyful greeting was in stark contrast to the storm of emotion that was brewing on the otter's face. If she didn't know better, she could swear she saw the madness of Atlas behind his eyes.

 _This can't be good!_


	32. Searching for Supper

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Searching for Supper**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

Vera blinked quickly, holding back the tears that threatened as she watched the hedgehog pocket her amulet. She picked up her apron where the hedgehog had discarded it, brushed as much sand off the tattered blue material that she could, and slipped it back on.

 _All that planning. All that work. Gone._

She closed her eyes and bowed her head as a hare and otter pulled her paws behind her back and bound them. She heard one of the hares talking to Captain Ciera.

 _No, I'm not going to call her Captain anymore._ Vera allowed herself to be led under the shelter of some big jungle plants and sat down in the sand. _She doesn't deserve the honorific._

Vera looked up again as Ciera, now bound as well, was pushed down beside her. Then she turned her back on Ciera. _It's so much more than simple treasure. Much more than some shiny rock. My brother died trying to keep that amulet. I succeeded where he failed and I won't let it stay in that hog's dirty paws._

Weariness washed over her and she stared over the dark sea. In her mind, she could still hear the screams and cries of those who died on the decks of the _Silver Maiden_. The blood staining the wood, shimmering scarlet in the flickering flames. Blood as red as the ruby in her amulet.

As red as Sarn's blood when he'd died, still fighting that rat for their mother's amulet.

"Vera, look, I'm sorry about your necklace," Ciera started to say. "That was very brave, but..."

Vera stopped listening and curled herself up into ball. _Brave? No, my brother was the brave one. He made them take it out of his dead paws. I'm not brave like him. Never have been._ She took a deep breath through her nose and felt a tear slip free.

Her body shook as she held the rest back. _Focus on something else. Don't think about Sarn._ She gulped down a few breaths. _The Waverunners. Getting the amulet back. Focus on that. Focus on revenge._

That had served her very well before, during the seasons working as a cook in Fort Blackfur, knowing all the time that Captain Rigal possessed her mother's amulet. Oh, she'd wanted to take it the moment she'd first seen it there in his room. Just grab the thing and run. But she'd waited and planned. She took pains to never let Rigal know just how interested she was in the amulet. Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold. So when the time came, Vera took the amulet, drugged the soldiers, torched that fort, and left who knew how many dead.

 _I'm patient. I got it back once. I can do it again._ She scrubbed the side of her face against her shoulder, rubbing the trail of the tear away.

The Waverunners were all talking to the two hares that had been in the boat with Ciera and her. One of them clapped Fildering on the back. "Thought you were done for, Fildy. Saw that bloomin' fox brain you and figured it were the end."

Fildering glanced at Vera briefly, then shrugged. "Mater always said I 'ad a bonce like a blinkin' boulder; an' twice as thick, donchaknow. So, who's th' devil runnin' the show 'round here, wot?"

"Well, Colonel Swiftpaw's here, but he's hurt bad. Not much fit for giving orders, I'm afraid. Didn't happen to see Miss Crue, did you?"

Fildering shook his head and the Waverunners compared notes of who they knew was dead and who was missing. As they talked, Vera's eyes began to droop and she yawned. She huddled down into the sand, closed her eyes, and listened to the drone of voices.

The sun bathed the sea in the colors of blueberries, peaches, and strawberries as it rose above the horizon. The pitiful camp of survivors stirred. Vera huddled in the sand, ever mindful of the guards that had been placed over Ciera and herself. She watched Gerro, the hedgehog who took her amulet, as he got up and began shaking sand out of his quills. A beast walked into her line of vision and her eyes followed him for a moment. It was Fildering. He looked no worse for wear after that little misadventure on the _Maiden_. She noticed, though, that whenever she took her eyes off of Gerro, she found that hare watching her.

 _Probably hurt his little pride knowing he got taken out by a kitchen tool,_ she thought.

"You know," she overheard an otter say, "we should get some viddles in Colonel Swiftpaw. He's as weak as a day old pup."

"You're right, mate," a hare replied. "A meal might help perk the old feller up. Got much experience in the ol' culinary arts?"

"'Fraid not, mate. What about you?"

"Pshaw, me, old thing? I could burn a salad, wot!"

Vera's ears perked and she plastered on her sweetest smile. "Why, if it's food you need, I'd be only too happy to oblige."

The shrew that was acting as one of her guards glowered down at her. "Oh, really?"

She struggled into a sitting position. "Of course. You see, before I made the mistake of taking employment on that horrid pirate vessel, I was a simple cook. Believe me, I had no idea what I was getting into when I got aboard that rickety old tub."

Ciera stiffened near her at the insult to her ship, but said nothing.

The woodlanders looked among each other and held a whispered conference. Finally, Fildering stepped forward. "After you cleaned my blinkin' clock with that flamin' fryin' pan thingummy an' consorted with the foebeast? Fat chance!"

 _It was a mallet, longears._ Vera lowered her eyes to the ground. "Forgive me, sir, but as I recall, you attacked us first. Can you blame me for trying to defend myself? Your badger lord was not taking any quarter from anyone. What choice was I left with? As for injuring you, I am truly sorry. I was defending my poor friend Tooley. You yourself must have noticed that he wasn't much of a fighter. Poor fellow," she sighed. "I suppose it's too much to hope that he survived."

The woodlanders returned to their whispered conferencing, and Vera sat back patiently, watching the twitch of ears and tails. Who seemed to be on her side? Who was against?

"May I offer a suggestion?" she said after the talk had gone on for a time.

Every face turned to regard her.

"I fully understand that you do not trust me. Why should you? I was allied with your enemy, although unwillingly. I'm perfectly happy to work under guard. I will sample any food I prepare before serving, to prove it's not harmful to any of you. All I ask is that I'm given a chance to show my good intentions."

Another bout of whispering ensued and, at last, Fildering turned to face her once more. "Right then, y'villain, you can blinkin' well fix us some tuck, but don't think for one bally minute that the lads aren't flippin' watchin' you. Cross 'em an' y'won't live to scorch another scone, you can count on it."

 _The nerve! I never scorch scones!_ One of Vera's guards untied her paws and she slowly stood and offered a brief curtsy with her filthy apron. "Thank you so much, noble beasts, for giving me this chance to prove myself to you. I'll get straight to work. What supplies do you happen to have with you?"

With Fildering and Qwirry flanking her, they escorted her over to the small pack of supplies that had been in the life boat they'd taken from the _Silver Maiden_. She dug through it. _Hardtack. Ugh. Dried fish? I hope it's fish. A canteen of water. And..._ She popped the cork on a big bottle and took a sniff. _Yuck, some of that horrid grog._ She stepped back. "Well, I can't do much with this lot. I could make a dreadful soup that I wouldn't wish on the lowliest pirate, but if you two gentlebeasts would be so kind to accompany me, I can see what sort of edibles I can find in the jungle there."

In response, Fildering's stomach rumbled.

"Well, don't try anything," he said.

Vera emptied out the small pack on the sand and accepted another sack from one of the woodlanders while Qwirry and Fildering took a pair of cutlasses from the group's small supply of weapons. Out of the corner of her eye, Vera thought she saw Fildering stick something up the sleeve of his uniform.

With Qwirry in the lead and Fildering behind her, they strode into the island's jungle. Knowing that her survival very likely depended on getting a good meal together for the shipwrecked Waverunners, she turned her entire focus to finding food.

Easier said than done, for the thick, heavy foliage of the jungle was unlike anything Vera had ever encountered before. Moisture seeped into her fur as she brushed past huge, leafy plants. She yelped as a large insect scampered out near her left footpaw. She thought she heard Qwirry snigger, so she twitched her tail and kept going. She noticed a brightly colored bird of some sort flutter overhead with a harsh cry.

 _I wonder what that would taste like?_ she thought. _No, I'm with woodlanders. They frown on that sort of thing. Ah, well, vegetation only, I suppose._

"Ah!" she cried in delight as she spotted a bright orange fruit high up in a palm tree.

"What?" Fildering asked, holding his cutlass at ready.

"Oh, the port I was working at before so foolishly joining the _Silver Maiden_ had some exotic fruits in the market on occasion. I've seen that one before and it's quite tasty. They called it a papaya."

"Hmm, how d'we jolly well nick th' blighter, wot?" Qwirry asked.

Vera examined it. "Well, I suppose I'll have to either climb up there, or find a stick long enough to knock it loose."

Qwirry looked at Fildering, who stared at Vera for a moment. Then he gave a start. "Righto, I s'pose. Start climbin', then, fox. We've got y'back," Fildering said.

 _I wonder if he's always like this, or if I addled that head of his when I hit him._ She approached the base of the tree and examined it's rough exterior. As she began to inch her way up, she commented. "My name is Vera, by the way. I'd appreciate if you'd use it rather than 'fox'."

"Steady on! My 'pologies. No offense intended. Vera it is, then; I'll try an' remember that, wot."

"Fildering, right? I can call you by your name, if I may."

"Er . . . right." Fildering shifted his footpaws anxiously and stared at the ground, as if to find some form of inspiration there.

 _Definitely addled._ She resumed climbing.

Vera almost slipped and fell twice, but at last she got up to the orange oval shaped fruits. "I'm going to knock these loose. Would one of you be so kind as to catch them so they don't splatter all over the jungle floor?"

The two hares looked at one another and Qwirry shrugged and thrust his cutlass through his belt. He positioned himself below her, paws out to catch.

It only took a little nudging to loosen the first papaya. She waited until the hare caught it and set it down on the ground before going after another.

Once Vera had the three ripest looking papaya's loose from the tree, she shimmied down. She managed to get all three papaya in the bag and hoisted it on her shoulder. They walked deeper into the jungle. As they went, she collected bananas, mangoes, and a yam looking root that she thought she recognized from one of her trips to the market.

"Y'know . . . Qwirry, ol' boy," Fildering said as she gathered up roots into the bulging bag, "why don't you toddle on off back t' our camp with this lot whilst we scope th' place about a bit more, wot?"

"I say! Super wheeze, Filder, ol' lad. Right then, I'll see you back at the bally old beach, sah!"

Vera handed over the two bags of food and then the hare headed off into the jungle, leaving her alone with Fildering.

"Well?" he said.

She smiled, and gave a little nod of her head and continued on. But the back of her neck prickled. The hare was acting odd. She flicked an ear back to listen to him. If he made any sudden movements, she wanted to know.

Then Vera stopped. Listening so intently to him made her suddenly aware of a bigger problem. "What happened to the birds?"

"What?"

"The birds. It's... quiet." The noise of the brightly colored tropical birds had faded. The leaves rustled in a slight breeze, but Vera heard none of the jungle noises that had become the background buzz over the course of the morning.

"We should go," Fildering said.

"Agreed," Vera whispered and turned to head back the way they came. Her footpaw caught on a trailing vine and she stuck a paw out to catch herself as she stumbled. What her paw rested on suddenly moved and she yelped as she fell.

Something struck her leg and pain like a dozen needles lanced through her thigh. Shiny cords of strong muscles contorted around her, pinning her arms. Then the brown, tan, and black coils tightened across her torso as she tried to scream. Breathing hurt and her chest ached. She tried to bite at the constriction, but it was just out of her reach.

Not out of sight, though, was Fildering, eyes wide as he stared. Then he stepped back.

The long snake shifted again and she tried to cry out, but her voice was only a whimper.


	33. Heart of Darkness

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Heart of Darkness**

 _By: Fildering_

* * *

Fildering gasped. The dagger fell from his trembling paw and hit the moist soil with a dull clunk- immediately forgotten.

The hare stared, frozen in place with pure dread. The fox opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped her lips as the enormous boa tightened around her, slitted yellow eyes cold and impassive as they focused on its single goal: to feed. Its huge, muscular tan and brown coils tensed on its prey, squeezing the wind out of her.

Fildering took another step back, horrified. He looked frantically to the right, then to the left.

Vera managed a squeak as she thrashed and clawed feebly at her captor, a pleading expression on her face.

Snapping himself out of it, the hare located his fallen blade, picked it up, and charged wildly at the snake, catching it unawares for all its greedy preoccupation with Vera. At the last moment, the reptile caught Fildering's movement out of the corner of its eye, and relinquished its stranglehold on the prone fox in the face of this new, more pertinent threat. It reared up, sibilating vehemently before lashing out at him with its mouth opened wide in a hideous grimace.

Fildering stopped in his tracks, but not for long: as the glistening monster launched like a coiled spring, he threw himself desperately to the side. The serpent's momentum carried it past the hare, who scrambled to put distance between himself and his terrifying foe. Dillwithers locked himself in a defensive stance between the jungle beast and its prey: the dazed vixen who was only just now beginning to rise, ruefully rubbing her throat.

 _Prey, eh? Not if I can 'elp it, by jove!_

Recovering from its recent encounter with the earth, the snake lifted its head gracefully and began slowly circling Fildering, its slithering movements smooth and deliberate.

As it passed him a second time, it struck with lightning speed, using its considerable flat head with all the force of a small battering ram, and connected with Fildering's stomach mid-way. Stars danced in the hare's vision and he was thrown backward against a teak tree, the wind completely gone from his lungs.

The hare crumpled to the earth like a wet dishrag.

Finished with Fildering for the time being, the monster turned back to Vera, who was trying to stand on shaky legs and clearly in no shape for a fight.

The fox took one step back, and the snake advanced. She turned and started staggering along, trying her utmost to run, but to anyone observing her the action appeared hardly more than a poor attempt at the hobbled gait of a mendicant hunchback, and not half as comedic given her current predicament.

Vera stumbled and fell; her breath came out in ragged sobs as the serpent reared its ugly head, a cold semblance of a victor's smile on its reptilian face.

Fildering forced himself up, coughing, and reclaimed his weapon from where it had fallen. With renewed fervor he dashed at the boa's scaly form, raising the dagger high over his right shoulder. He had to hold the handle in two paws to manage the blade in his wearied, bruised state.

"Euuuulaliaaaaa!"

The monster never saw it coming; its back was turned to the hare. With all his might Fildering rammed the dagger all the way to its fine silver cross hilt into the serpent's smooth, scaly back. The beast reared and screeched wildly at the sudden injury; bucking, thrashing, and wriggling like one possessed. The hare was thrown backward, his hold on the handle forcibly released by the snake's mad dance.

Not bothering to look back to confirm whether or not the beast had died, Fildering supported the fox. "Let's get th' deuce out of here, wot? That snake doesn't look dead t'me, an' I'm not interested in staying t' jolly well find out, donchaknow!"

He peered at the fox's leg, which she had been nursing with a pained expression on her muzzle. "Snake got me," she said simply.

"Gah. Hmm, can y'walk at all?" Fildering asked, the effects of his small adrenaline rush still only just beginning to wear off.

Vera shoved his paw away. "Course I can." She stumbled along, putting on a show of independence, then stumbled and fell again.  
This was the fox who'd knocked him senseless. This was the fox who had, after binding him, dragged him aboard a rowboat to what could have easily ended in not only a departure from the _Zephyr_ but also a violent divorce with his life. Why had he saved her from that serpent just now? He could have always reported back to the others that she'd been taken and devoured by some jungle predator, and nobeast would've cared; nobeast would've known.

 _Except one beast._

He allowed himself a proud smile, despite it all, and offered his paw again.

"C'mon, y' can't jolly well stay here, can you?"

This time Vera accepted it. Begrudgingly.

"That's better, wot. Jolly!" Fildering grinned.

Vera did not return the grin and simply resumed movement.

Both fox and hare hobbled through the jungle like a perfect old pair of misfits for some time, headed more or less in a backtrack toward the shore. At long length, Fildering paused to rest, supporting himself against a tree. He recoiled instantly at the sight of an enormous, hairy black spider at least the size of his outstretched paw crawling along the rough trunk. "Yaaah, boo, gerroff!" He jumped back, breathing sharply.

Vera snickered. "Scared o' spiders, are we?"

"Tchah! Ahem, ehm, cert'nly not, wot! Nevah. Harrumph!"

Vera smirked, shrugged, and started to continue. She clenched her teeth painfully as she tried to put weight on her injured leg.

"Hmm, hmm, won't do at all, wot, Vera me old vixen. We'll have to stop here awhile while I find something to help th' old leg, wot?"

Vera sat down. "Fine, fine, alright."

"Good show. Righto, what should I blinkin' well look for?"

"I wouldn't know."

"We could cauterize it. Old trick the vets used t' tell stories about back at Galbraith Hall, donchaknow."

Vera edged away. "Not on your life, fluff tail."

"Blast. Hmm, what should we do then, wot?"

"Let's just keep going. There's a bottle of grog back at your camp. I can clean it with that."

"Right, I suppose we should be heading on after you've rested up, then."

A long silence hung in the air. Finally, Vera spoke up.

"Why did you help me? You could've left me and nobeast would've been the wiser. You could've gotten yourself killed."

Fildering winked. "Aw. Didn't know y'cared, old gel."

Vera rolled her eyes. "Pfft."

To be honest with himself, Fildering was beginning to realize one reason why. "I guess you sort of reminded me of m'sister. Same laugh, you know, like she'd do."

There was a short, awkardly silent pause.

He shuffled his footpaws. "Hmm, guess we should be heading out now, wot? Rather make camp before evening hits us, donchaknow."

Vera sighed. "I'm sorry about your sister. She's in a better place now."

"Hah!" the hare laughed. "Hahaha!"

Vera looked at him, puzzled, as if wondering what about hares made them think death was so terribly funny.

"Aye, in a better place f' bloomin' sure. Th' mater an' pater've got their flippin' paws full, that's f'blinkin' sure. Prob'ly eaten 'em out o' blinkin' 'ouse an' 'ole by now, wot! Greedy liddle trifleswiper!"

"Oh, I thought you meant . . ."

"Dead? Nevah!" The hare snickered. "Th' very thought! Tchah, the Dark Forest wouldn't take 'er, wot, not for all th' gold in the world! She'd scoff them out by bally October, aye, an' th' Devil himself'd be on th' first blinkin' boat to Sampetra!"

"Ha, well, I think we should be heading off again, Mister Dillwithers. I think I've rested long enough."

Vera started to help herself up using the broad trunk of a ceiba tree for support. She winced slightly as her leg made brief contact with the tree's rough bark.

Fildering rushed to help her along, and once again the pair set off through the jungle.

* * *

Afternoon, hot and miserably humid, wore on into cool evening. The going was slow, and at every turn they were beset by a large cloud of gnats and mosquitoes. Vera had to stop more than once on account of her injured leg, but at long last they emerged from the roasting jungle and out onto the shoreline. It was cooler out here. Pleasant, even. Quiet, tranquil save for the lapping of the seas on the tideline. Fildering realized that it was also completely deserted.

"I say," he muttered. "We must've come out at th' wrong bloomin' place. Our jolly old camp must be somewhere else along this beach, wot? D'you suppose- "

Vera shook her head, pointing out several packs lying about. "That's our camp." The fox increased her speed to a hop-skip as they entered the clearing.

The campfire had long since burnt out. Fildering scattered the ashes with a footpaw, deep in thought. "Well, what d'you suppose bally well happened here?" he asked, seating himself on a flat boulder.

The vixen sat down on the sand, and Fildering took an educated guess by the look on her face that this turn of events was not at all welcome. "They mustve broke camp and left us." She seemed to say it casually, as though she was used to this sort of thing. Vera began searching through the mess around her for the grog.

"Bally odd, this, donchathink? Y'mean t' say they all just toddled off somewhere without so much as a tally-ho in our direction?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." Vera sighed as she fumbled through a weathered haversack.

Fildering groaned. "Well, dashed rotten fa- wait . . . zounds, is that blood over there?"

"Where?" the vixen asked without looking up, preoccupied with locating her bottle of grog to give this her full attention.

"By that pile o' driftwood yonder," the hare pointed out.

He got up and tramped over to one edge of the camp, then bent over a small rusty-red patch of sand. "Jove. It _is_ blood!"

"Aha, there you are," the fox was saying, mostly between herself and the bottle of grog, which she had discovered half-covered in sand. She held it aloft, and a conquering smile curled around her lips.

Vera uncorked the flask, her smile of victory turning quickly to a grimace of disgust at the foul alcoholic odor permeating the air around her. "But where are the bodies? If they've been killed, that is, there should be bodies," she said passively as she applied the liquor to the wound, clenching her teeth slightly as the alcohol did its disinfectant magic.

The hare was tracing his paw through a shallow, winding groove in the sand that wound its way over a dune, down through another dip and into the jungle. As he took a closer look around, he realized there were more spots of blood, and what was worse, there were more wavy tracks like these, and all led in the general direction of the jungle. Fildering gasped as it dawned on him.

 _Serpents._ Their recent encounter with the hideous boa immediately came to mind.

He slowly raised his eyes to meet Vera's. "Unless they've all been . . . "

Vera nodded in horrified realization. The bottle fell from her paw, and her eyes widened. "Eaten!"


	34. Retribution

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Retribution**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

There were two pirates ahead. Their clothing was mismatched and sloppy, accented with bright colors, and the lean lanky one was surly a weasel or stoat. The other was maybe a rat. They were accompanied by a squirrel with a light, sun-catching kerchief on her head - the big bushy tail being a dead give-away even at a distance.

"Ahoy!" The weasel waved enthusiastically, seeming to recognize Chak. It was then that Chak realized who they had found. It was Tooley.

And it was Daggle.

The rat limped a little, leaning on Tooley for balance, mainly, but he was well enough.

 _Well enough to save his own hide._

His wandering eye turned upward while the other gazed nonchalantly ahead at the approaching group of allies. He gave Chak a nod and an easy salute, completely unaware of the growing rage pulsing behind the slave driver's eyes. Chak increased his pace with set determination, leaving the others behind. Only when he was close enough for the rat to recognize the menacing body language did Daggle show any sign of fear, taking several steps back until he tripped and fell on his tail.

"Daggle, mate, are ye –" Tooley's confusion turned to alarm as Chak yanked his driftwood cudgel from his belt and fell on the floundering rat, clubbing him violently.

"Stop! What are you doing?!" The squirrel shrieked, clawing desperately at him in an attempt to halt the attack, but Chak had eyes and ears for the rat alone.

"Fifty-nine beasts ye left down thar, scumbag!"

 ***THUD***

" _Fifty-_ "

 ***THUD***

" _-nine_ "

 ***THUD***

"ta _DIE!_ "

 ***THUD***

He continued to bludgeon screams from the rat, cracking ribs and pulping the side of his face until the hunk of driftwood cracked and broke into pieces.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Tooley leapt onto Chak, wrapping his arms around the otter's neck and pulling him back from his gasping friend. Chak grabbed the weasel's arms and forced them down until he was able to turn and slug him in the chin.

Daggle was sobbing, thick strings of bloody mucus hanging from his broken nose. "Please! T'wern't my fault! I were bein' jumped by hares an' chased by the mad badger an' I done me best but there weren't nuthin' fer it! They're jus' slaves, mate!"

Chak grabbed his wrist and started dragging him toward the water.

"The cap'n ordered me ta help!" pled the rat. "Take it up wi' her, mate! I jus' be followin' orders!"

Waves washed up around them as Chak hauled the rat deep into the water.

"Look! Look!" Daggle sputtered. "I still be havin' the key, mate! I ain't abandoned 'em! Here – it be right 'ere!" The searat held the key up from where it dangled around his neck with shaking paws.

Chak seized the rat by the throat and snarled into his face. "Yer right ye b'ain't be abandonin' 'em, mate. Ye be _joinin' 'em._ "

With that, Chak shoved Daggle's head under water, pressing down with both paws as the rat frantically thrashed and kicked. Claws scored Chak's forearms fiercely, then slowed and became feeble gestures. The slave driver watched with brutal satisfaction until the last bubble of air gurgled to the surface from Daggle's open mouth, and his struggles ceased.

Vengeance bestowed, Chak released the limp figure, tearing the key spitefully from the drowned rat's neck. Daggle's body surged back and forth with the surf as Chak sloshed through the waves and wet sand toward Minstrel and Scrufftail, ignoring the horrified stares of the others.

Kneeling at the slaves' feet, he first jammed the key into the mouse's manacle, then the squirrel's. The chain fell into the sand with a metallic clink. Only then did Chak meet eyes with Minstrel, who pursed his lips and gave the otter a barely perceptible nod of understanding.

Chak stood, emboldened. Let the others think what they would. He had all the affirmation he needed.


	35. Confrontation

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Confrontation**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

The hedgehog was running as fast as his footpaws would let him, but Robert couldn't get there in time. He mentally kicked himself for not staying close enough to the sea otter, as something like this was bound to happen. Chak had somehow managed to unchain his slavebeasts, leaving that poor beast dead and already forgotten in the tidewater. Despite this, Robert continued to charge at the murderer, as if he could somehow save the beast anyway. As the hedgehog neared Chak, the otter noticed the oncoming sailor, and backed away from the slaves, brandishing only clenched fists. Robert readied his oar.

"You rotten killer, you!" Robert shouted, swinging the oar in front of himself. "You get back!" Chak backed away from the crazy swings of the oar.

"Yarrr," he growled, taking another step back, paws at the ready. "What 'ave ye ta do wi' this, 'edgepig? T'ain't none o' yer damn business!"

"What in the fates could that beast'a done?" Robert shouted, advancing slightly towards the mad otter. Before Cak could respond to Robert's threats however, a little voice spoke up behind the hedgehog, clear and calm.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Robert, glancing slightly back quickly so as not to drop his own guard, saw Minstrel, and a glint of steel in the mouse's paw. The hedgehog grunted through his teeth.

"Come on now, boyo. I can easily take the two of you if'n I need to," Robert lied, still ready to strike. Minstrel stood his ground.

"No need for that, friend. If we can all just calm down for a moment and step back, there should be no cause for further violence."

"No cause for violence?" Robert, his heart pounding even harder than before, chuckled, seemingly against his will. "After what he's just done? What's the cause for that? What's he done to earn the right to be judge, jury an' executioner?"

Chak's glare grew more intense, a deep and frightening rage building behind his eyes. "An' 'ow many beasts did ye slay las' night as judge, jury an' executioner? Er did the crew o' the _Silver Maiden_ miss their trial an' verdict aboard yer Waverunner ship?"

"You. . . that was war!" Unable to contain his frustration, the hedgehog's tone grew."This ain't the same, this's just murder, plain n' simple!"

"Oh I see. It be murder when I be slayin' a beast what murdered fifty-nine other beasts, but it be 'war' when yer badgerlord be cleavin' 'im in two jus' fer bein' a rat?" Chak said. "Ye've a screwed up sense o' justice, hedgepig."

"Atlas ain't relatin' to this, you!" Robert shouted. "An' 'sides, ain't nobody be followin' that madbeast after what he did to the colonel! That badger's justice ain't mine, bucko, an' it ain't no excuse for yours!"

"Then what BE yer justice, eh?" Chak asked. "What authority be ye appealin' to out 'ere on the beach er in the jungle? B'ain't no justice out 'ere but our own."

"You're right, there ain't no justice out here. There be only us an' our choices. But that's jus' it, bucko. We can choose to be either goodbeasts, or madbeasts like Atlas. Which'd you be preferin'?"

"Har har har har! Ye be livin' in a dream world, matey. Ain' nothin' that black an' white. Good er mad. Yarrrrr. Well I know I b'ain't either. But I be _choosin_ ' ter rid this party o' one low-life bilge bag who be valuin' 'is own skin more 'n four dozen o' yer 'good' beasts. Unless ye also be thinkin' they be expendable? I cain tell ye most' o' me old shipmates 'ud agree with ye. Tooley there'd prob'ly trade a whole trireme o' slaves fer 'is scurvy friend. Wouldn't ya, mate?" Chak flashed an angry look at Tooley, who was whimpering in the sand next to the rat's corpse.

"I seen more beasts die o'er the seasons than you or anybeast else'd like to imagine, an' I won' stand to see any more," Robert said. "I say there ain't nobeast that's expendable, be they pirate, woodlander, or slave. You think you're so justified in killin' this other beast? Well pardon me fo' questionin the morals o' an' otter who enslaves his fellow beasts to do his biddin'!"

The sea otter hesitated, glancing at the mouse and squirrel. "I be treatin' me slaves jus' fine, thankee vury much."

The squirrel scoffed loudly and Chak's hackles rose again.

"I be feedin' 'em regular, they be 'avin' decent sleep, e'en extra viddles if they be followin' the rules!"

"A real bleedin' heart, you," Rob remarked, spitting out the sarcasm. Feeling a little more at ease, the hedgehog lowered his oar and glanced to the onlooking beasts. "Come on, everyone. Ain't no need to pay this villain any mind. He's made his bed o' blood, an' now he can lie in it, but the rest of us don' got to. Follow me. Let's give this poor bloke a proper burial."

"It's only proper we do," said Scrufftail, sending a sideways sneer to Chak.

Robert nodded."Thank you kindly, friend. An' you Minstrel?" Minstrel, having long sheathed his blade, shook his head, eyeing Chak through the corner of his eyes. Robert nodded again. "I understand."

Robert walked straight past Chak and towards the body, noticing a squirrel already kneeling down beside it. . The hedgehog somehow managed a grin once he recognized who it was.

"Crue! Ain't I glad to see you out here an' well!" The squirrel, however, managed nothing more than a slight twitching frown at the corner of her mouth. Robert nodded once more, but still unable to contain his joy. "Eh, not the best way to meet, aye, but it does me wonders to know you made it."

Robert knelt beside the body, flipping it over to see the poor soul's face. The rat's face was broken and bloody, twisted into a permanent look of fear and pain. Robert grimaced at the sight. Reaching down, Robert tried picking up the body, but his arms refused to help him today as well. Grunting, the hedgehog rose back to his footpaws, shaking the pain from his arms as he motioned for Tooley.

"Eh, Tooley, was it? Would you mind helpin' me bring this poor soul to the forest's edge?" Tooley nodded, shuffling over to aid the hedgehog. Robert eyed Crue.

"An' Crue, would you mind carryin' that oar for me an' follow us?"

"Yes sir, Mister Rosequill." Crue said, and quickly snatched up the oar.

After picking up Daggle, the two managed to lug the body to the treeline, unfortunately being less than gentle putting it back down. With a huff, Robert gestured for Crue to hand him his oar. Robert then managed to break up the sandy dirt with it, and quietly began digging with his makeshift shovel. Scrufftrail helped, smiling to Chak in smug satisfaction as he dug up the ground with his paws. Tooley merely stood off to the side over Daggle's corpse, however, Every so often, Robert glanced to Chak and other beasts who looked on from a slight distance. At one point, Plink stopped watching and ran off towards camp.

It took a long while to put Daggle into the ground, but once they finally pat down the earth, Robert stood up straight, and laid a paw on Tooley's shoulder. "Tooley mate, you seemed to know him best. Any words you'd like to say?"

Kneeling, Tooley's gaze remained fixed on the ground. He ran his claws over the loose sand of the grave. Sniffing, he looked up at Robert, eyes reddened and on the verge of tears. "'E weren't bad." He looked back down, shaking his head. "'E weren't bad..."

"I'm sure he weren't, friend," said Robert, patting the mourning weasel's shoulder. Robert gave the group a few moments, but knew work had to be done. Clearing his throat, Robert got everybeast's attention.

"I know this'll be difficult, but we need to start lookin' for freshwater an' a place to sleep now rather'n later. So we need to stick close, 'cause we're headin' into the jungle here."

"We've already started building us a campsite," Crue said. "It's a ways down the beach. There's a stream nearby, too."

"Aha, great work you two!" Robert said jovially. "Then we'll be on our way over there now. As soon as we can though, we'll be lookin' for some food in the jungle."

Crue and Tooley nodded, falling into a sort of formation behind Robert. Scrufftail and Minstrel wandering over to do the same. The hedgehog grunted in approval, and began leading his ragtag group away fom the trees. After a while had passed, he glanced back at the beasts behind him. Chak had also decided to follow, hanging a good distance behind the group.

 _I think we jus' might make this work._


	36. I Repent I Had Not Done More Mischief

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **I Do Heartily Repent**

 _by: Plink_

* * *

Plink jogged a few steps to keep pace with the big sea otter, assessing him surreptitiously. His paws swayed at his sides, thick and scarred as old mallets. He must have fought scores of battles. Plink picked at a crusty spot on the hilt of her new dirk and aimed a hopeful smile at him.

"How'd ye get ta be a pirate, Chak?"

When she'd asked her slew of questions about the captain, Chak had grunted out answers aplenty. Now though, he fixed her with a dark look. Plink swallowed the other questions chasing on the first one's heels.

"That bain't any o' yer business, cully," he said, baring a glimpse of his yellowed fangs.

"M'only curious."

"Arrr - an' yer mouth be workin' harder 'n yer footpaws. Save yer breath."

Plink let out a frustrated sigh and marched, but there were so many uncomfortable things snagging her attention. Her throat was desperately parched and her legs were stiff and weary from swimming all through the night with that hedgehog following her. There were big tender places across her chest and belly from when she'd been blasted off the ship. The sun was in her eyes. The sand grew hot under her footpaws.

And whenever she was quiet, she would spot another corpse on the beach ahead and her belly would ache. Plink refused to doubt that she had seen Scully in that row boat, but her mind kept stuttering across the events of the previous night, images of beasts stabbed and sliced and smashed into unnatural shapes.

The rat clenched her teeth. They meant nothing to her, those beasts. Beasts died every day, and a pirate had to have the grit it took to speed them along. It was just her worry for Scully that made her stomach roil as if she'd eaten rancid meat. That was all.

Plink fidgeted. She stole a glance back at the hedgehog, Robert. He had taken up a broken oar and was swinging it like a walking stick as he followed after them, though he didn't seem to be limping or anything. Robert noticed her stare and his snout tugged up with that same pleasant smile. Plink snapped back around to face forward.

A moment later, she turned again to look at the slaves. She'd never seen slaves before. She hadn't really given their existence much thought. The sight of them now - the depth of their scars, the bends in their backs, their patchy and lusterless fur - was unsettling. But pirates weren't unsettled by such things.

Plink opened her mouth to ask Chak where the other slaves were, but didn't get the chance. The mouse, Minstrel, began humming along with the beat of their steps, then launched into a cheery song.

"March march march  
or else the sun'll cook ya dry!  
The beach beach beach  
is but a pan on which to fry  
when the sun sun sun  
is just a de-vil's eye,  
ya'll either march march march  
or you'll bake up like a pie!"

Minstrel shot Plink a grin, pumping his elbows as he followed his own advice, and the young rat couldn't help but smile back. There was something infectious in his rhythm and it was easy to sing along in the parts that repeated - so she did. The song went on for a few verses and then the mouse paused and glanced at Chak before switching to a new tune.

"Oh! Once we were ten brothers,  
ten brothers strong as oak!  
We scrapped and laughed together,  
each one a handsome bloke!

But ten's too many brothers - me ma can tell ya that!  
So she sent me oldest brother off t'be eaten by a cat!

Now Ma, she felt just awful,  
she'd lost her eldest son!  
But nine's a lot of mouthfuls,  
when all ya got is one.

She did all she could think to do but there was nothing fer it -  
nine's too many brothers too, so th' next went to a ferret!"

Plink chortled along through the next verse, bolstered by Chak's rumbling laugh. She picked up a more spirited pace, humming along.

"Now Ma, she was a pious beast,  
she prayed most every day-  
seven sons need quite a feast  
to keep the pangs at bay.

She begged the spirits for some food - ole Vulpuz answered back,  
he said, 'Tidy up your eldest lad, I'll trade 'im for a snack!'"

Delighted as she was with the song, the mention of food made Plink realize just how hungry she'd become. She gnawed her lip through a few verses and sucked on a button from her pocket, but it made no difference. Finally, she peered up at Chak. "Matey, when d'ya think we might look fer somethin' ta eat?"

The upward turn of his mouth hardened. "If ye be wantin' vic-tu-als, ye'd best go forage fer yerself."

Plink peered up the beach at the shadowy forest. "Ain't ye hungry, too?"

"We bain't wastin' the cool o' the day muckin' around."

"It ain't so cool, now… Can't we just-?"

All in one motion, Chak stopped walking, turned a hard eye upon her, and struck her with an easy backhand. It hit square in the little rat's snout and she sat down hard on the sand.

"I told ye," Chak said, and Plink didn't dare look away from his stern eyes, "to save yer breath."

Robert was shouting something as he ran toward them, but it seemed very far away from where Plink sat. She gave a jerky nod and watched Chak turn and carry on as if nothing had happened. His slaves followed, the squirrel glaring daggers at his back while Minstrel glanced down at Plink almost apologetically.

They were of a height, she and the mouse, but he seemed so much bigger, and older, from down on the ground. After a few steps, he faced forward and resumed his song:

"...She tucked us in a pie crust, and kissed us on our heads  
and would've thrown us in the oven if I hadn't up and said..."

Plink watched them walk away, then swiped the reflexive tears from her cheeks as the hedgehog arrived and crouched beside her.

"You alright there, Miss Plink?"

She scrambled to her footpaws, looking anywhere but at the other beast. "I'm fine. He just got the jump on me."

Robert rose slowly, his mouth clamped tight. He gestured pointedly at his own snout.

Plink dabbed her muzzle and found a little blood had leaked out. She dug a stained handkerchief from her jacket pocket.

"Don't you pay that villain no mind," Robert said. His eyes were locked on Chak's diminishing back. "Grown beast strikin' a child. Despicable."

Plink pressed the cloth to her snout and watched the hedgehog watch the otter. "I ain't a child," she snapped, but the viciousness she had aimed for was diminished by her obstructed nostrils. She jammed the handkerchief back in her pocket and snarled. "I ain't a child! I'm a pirate."

The fat old hedgehog looked at her then, but not the way he would look at a pirate. "S'at so? My mistake, Miss Plink."

"Aye! It is your mistake!" The young rat scowled at him as nastily as she could, then scurried after Chak and his slaves. She slowed a ways behind them, just near enough to hear Minstrel singing about a "lovely little mousey girl," and figured that was close enough to prove her point.


	37. Lullaby

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Lullaby**

 _By: Gordon_

* * *

 _Long way from home,  
twixt jungle and sea,  
where fire mountain rests  
'neath smoldering tree,  
we're lost beyond charts,  
where savages roam,  
no beast can save us,  
long way from home._

Gordon was ready to go home.

He missed his soft bed, and sleeping in, and wearing dry clothes. He missed eating big dinners of cabbage pie and broasted yam, and reading long epic adventure poems to put himself to sleep. He missed his big house, and a room full of only the toys that he wanted. There were no sharks in his room. He missed being alone, instead of being stared at, with everyone pointing out how short he was. He missed his mom.

She probably missed him, too. He felt guilty. She had no idea where he was. She must be so worried about him… would his parents come looking for him? Were they already on their way? He felt a cold realization in his gut: no, they had no idea where to find him. They'd never see him again.

They had been shipwrecked for hours, and no hope was in sight. Why had Brother Sage put him on this stupid quest? Kill Atlas, really? How could he have thought that would have ended well? Well, the stupid mouse definitely didn't foresee the stupid attack on the stupid ship and the stupid sharks and the stupid ocean and the stupid island with the stupid sand stuck between his toes. And where was Atlas now? And what was the point of all of this? What difference did it make? It was all stupid and pointless. Why should he care anymore?

Plink was gone. She'd left him. She must be off with the pirates at last, having the time of her life. She didn't care about him, she was too busy having fun. Whatever. Good for her. She probably didn't even remember him. He imagined himself being eaten alive by some monster in the jungle, slow agonizing bite after slow agonizing bite, and then the pieces of his body scattered around the jungle for her to find. He hoped he died that way and she'd find the pieces, just so that she'd feel bad for having left him.

The fire flickered. He could see Colonel Swiftpaw, asleep and lying in a stretcher. He felt sorry for him. He could see the shadow of Captain Ciera Ancora, on his left, who was sitting and sighing. She didn't seem so bad. She had known Blade.

He recognized the _Zephyr's_ crew around the campfire: Qwirry, Drandy, Addai, Killian, and Gerro. He didn't care about the rest of them. Petty treasure-hunters. Stupid waverunners. They put their lives in Atlas's hands, and this is what he had done to them. They deserved it for trusting Altas. He hoped that they all were eaten by the monster.

Even Fildering was stupid… but wait, where was Fildering? And where was Vera, the cook? They had left that morning, but it was now early evening and the sun would soon be setting.

The only sound he could hear from their camp on the beach was the crashing of the waves. The birds had stopped.

The jungle around them had gone quiet.

* * *

 _When neither foe nor fowl will speak  
and silence fills the air,  
seek what sneaks unseen beside you.  
Look out, my friend! Beware!_

Snakes!

Drandy was the first to disappear. They assumed he had simply stepped away to relieve himself. Killian and Gerro went off to find him.

They never came back.

Qwirry, in the midst of trying to tell a joke to lighten the mood, disappeared also with a scream, at the same moment as Captain Ancora. Colonel Swiftpaw cried out loudly, and then disappeared, leaving a bloodied bandage behind. Addai looked at Gordon and pulled out a sword.

"Scully, I say we…" and then, he was gone too.

The fire had gone out. No one else was left, but Gordon knew he was not alone. He heard the hissing behind him, but also knew he was powerless to do anything to stop it. Then, he felt clammy repitilian skin brushing up against him, and in a moment he was gone.

Wrapping its body around his to keep him secure, the large viper dragged Gordon through the jungle for what seemed like an hour before they began climbing a tree. The sun set as he was dragged away. Although he could not see how far off the ground they were going, he could tell from the time it took to travel to the top that it must be a very tall tree. Finally, the snake uncoiled its body from him, and he began to fall: but not very far, for he was caught by a mess of vines which snagged and entangled him. The vines had tiny claws that latched themselves into his fur and pricked against him. Although they were painful, his body went stiff with terror and he did not struggle against them, knowing that the fall would be deadly.

Although it was completely dark in the tree, he could smell the warm presence of the other mammals around him. He recognized all of the smells, except one. He heard two snakes talking.

"First me to eat!"

"Hisss, no, first me. You not first."

"I most fish catch, I eat not first? What fair is this?"

"I catch big big fat fish! Extreme heavy weight."

"Quiet hush, you," a third voice chimed in. "Lots cast. Short bone wins first pick."

"Hiss, foul on you! I catch fish, I eat fish, now!"

Gordon felt the impact ripple through the vines, and he heard two screams. The first scream he recognized clearly as Gerro the hedgehog. The second scream came from whatever it was that had just tried to eat Gerro the hedgehog.

"Hisss. What is this? Sharp fish! Foul fish! Aaaaaarghhhissss."

Gerro was still breathing, for now.

A fourth voice now spoke, much deeper and sounding more like gurgling than hissing. Although its voice was more distant than the other three, Gordon could smell rotting meat on its breath. "You idiots! I instructed you clearly that we've not even determined what they are yet, nor whence they came. You are to guard them, not eat them. At midnight, when the council is awake, we shall consider then what to do with them and how to reward you."

Gordon caught a brief glimpse of the fourth snake. Perhaps it was the moonlight playing tricks on him, but its bright yellow eye seemed as large as Gordon's face.

* * *

The hours wore on.

"Scully, 'sthat you?" It was Addai.

"Yeah."

"Quite a spot we're in, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You have any family?"

"Yeah." He tried not to let them hear him sniffling.

A different voice spoke. It was Captain Ancora.

"I'm sorry."

This was it. They were doomed. The snakes were going to eat them, and Gordon's last moments would be spent being digested alive by acid in the pit of a serpent's stomach. The thought of Plink finding his body no longer pleased him. It made him sad. He missed her.

"I'm sorry... that I... failed you... Scully… failed you all." Colonel Swiftpaw spoke, haltingly, full of guilt, catching his breath. He was awake.

"It's okay, sir," said Drandy.

"Aye, sir," said Killian and Qwirry.

"We'll make it, sir," said Addai. "Right Scully, ol' chap?"

"Yeah. Actually, yeah." And at that moment an idea occured to Gordon, a wind of hope that blew away the clouds in his head and let him see clearly. It was a poem.

 _When a serpent trails your path  
run and you will face his wrath,  
but turn and look him in the eyes  
and sing this song to hypnotize…_

Brother Sage had taught it to him, sometime last winter in the midst of lessons on swimming, fire-making, trail-blazing, scouting, foraging, poisoning, locating buried treasure… they'd studied and memorized the Great Poems of the Lost Pirates. One of his favorites, because it was by far the silliest, was the snake-sleeping song. Perhaps it was just an old pirate's tale... but perhaps it would work.

 _You say a sly to slow the slew  
and play a pie to poe the poo  
what dill and taffy tried to do  
or may the mighty mow anew._

Gordon continued reciting the poem in a "happy, sing-song voice" as Brother Sage had instructed him, bobbing his head back and forth to the rhythm. He could see the shadows of the three tree snakes taking notice.

 _You hold the hash and have a hoe  
and give the gander grabbing go  
but take a dither at the doe:  
it never needs to nod a no._

The three vipers were completely transfixed on Gordon, their heads bobbing along with his.

He kept singing, while slowly and carefully prying his arm out of the clinging vines. He felt the dagger tucked in his belt, and he reached for it, trying not to attract attention. At last, the dagger was out! He could cut himself free!

 _...to villains' vittles' voyage view  
we wade the weeping willows…_

WHOMP. A massive tail thicker around than he was tall plucked him up and held him, suspended, over the side of the tree.

"The Council will come to Order," a deep, monstrous voice said.

Bright lights shone on him from several sides from torches held by a dozen or more large snakes. His dagger was no longer hidden, but exposed in the light. It gleamed as did the name "Blade" engraved upon it. The colorful design on the hilt had never looked so beautiful.

"Where did you get that blade?" he heard Captain Ancora shout at him in a startled voice. But he had no time to answer her before the large snake spoke again.

"Tell us, who are you? What have you to say to us?"

He could see five snakes, far longer and larger than all of the rest, wearing crowns of gold on their heads and bands of silver around their bodies and with gold painted on their skin that reflected the light. All looked straight at him.

All of the hope had drained from Gordon's face. He became cold, pale, and lifeless in the snake's clutches, unable to speak.

"Leave the... little one... be!" Shouted a voice from the vines. "It is... me you want!" Frederick wheezed. "He is... a member of my crew, and... under my protection."

"Put him down, you filthy, silthering reptile! Take me first!" Addai shouted.

"He's barely a leveret!" said Drandy.

"Poor babe!" said Drandy.

But the snakes ignored all of them, brushing them off as though they were raving lunatics. The little snakes mocked and cackled. The large snake stared straight at Gordon with his massive eyes.

"What have you to say to us, messenger of the fire god?"

The little snakes gasped.

The _Zephyr_ 's crew gasped.

Gordon gasped, more confused than all of them.

He had neither the strength to object nor the strength to play along. Fire god? Who did they think he was? He remained limp, with his mouth wide open. Fortunately, Captain Ancora was far quicker at thinking on her feet than he was: "If he is a messenger of your god, then perhaps you should show him more respect."

"We will never worship the god of our bitter enemies," another of the large, crowned snakes replied. His voice crackled with age. "But we understand why he has sent you to us."

"Lord Bad-ger!" The smaller tree snakes chanted. "Lord Bad-ger!"

"For over a decade now your god has enabled his chosen tribe to hunt us and slaughter us with fire. For years we have appealed to the earth to send us, the owners of this land from ancient times, a defender against them. And today, the earth heard us, and it provided us with a true son of the earth, a mighty warrior, a champion, a lord!"

"Lord Bad-ger! Lord Bad-ger!" they chanted again.

"Twenty mongooses killed in one hour. Of the strange beasts like you who washed ashore, yesterday, the champion has already killed half of them. We have eaten our fill and the earth has drunk the blood."

"Fresh Fish! Fresh Fish!" the small snakes chanted.

"He speaks to none, and listens to no cry for mercy! The spirit of the son within him glows hot and red through his eyes! He shouts his name for all to hear!"

"Lord Bad-ger! Lord Bad-ger!"

"Now, little messenger, tell your god that we demand a truce. If his chosen tribe will cease hunting us, if they will lay down their abominable weapons from the pit of the earth… then we will call to the earth to restrain him, and we will have peace. But if they will not… the earth has heard our call, and the mighty Lord Bad-ger will slaughter every last one."

A cacophony of noise erupted from the small snakes as they hissed and cackled in the torchlight. Then, the large snake motioned with his head, and they fell silent. All eyes were upon Gordon. Not a noise could be heard.

"Um…"

Silence.

"Um…"

Silence.

"So… you want me to tell the… fire god… that you want a truce." Gordon didn't know what was going on. Nothing in Brother Sage's lessons had prepared him for this. He felt disoriented, even a tad giddy.

Silence.

"Sure. I'll do that."

The large snake let him go. He was free, sort of. He looked around awkwardly.

"We know you are small, little messenger. So you may choose two bodyguards. The rest we will keep as insurance, to ensure you keep your word. If you don't, well… your god will understand that we have many mouths to feed, I am sure."

Gordon turned around to look at the faces of all of those caught in the vines behind him. He saw Drandy and Killian, Addai and Qwirry. He saw Colonel Swiftpaw, and paused for moment. Then he moved on. He saw Gerro the hedgehog, who gave him a scornful look.

"Her," he said, pointing at Captain Ancora. They released her also.

"We'll also take Murdin," she said, pointing at a stoat that Gordon didn't recognize. They released him also.

"Scully, what the devil…?" said Addai.

"Traitor!" gasped Qwirry.

"You idiot!" Killain shouted.

"Fool of a kid," Drandy groaned.

"You filthy son of a…" muttered Gerro.

"Oh, and, um… I'd like that amulet," he said, pointing at Gerro. Gerro, spines extended hatefully, surrendered the amulet to one of the snakes, who handed it to Gordon.

* * *

Dawn was breaking when Gordon, Captain Ancora, and Murdin returned to the beach. The camp was deserted, but they heard a voice coming from the water a short way away.

"I say, you chaps! Over here!"

Two bedraggled heads popped up, one belonging to a fox, and one to a hare. Gordon waved the amulet in the air so that Vera could see it.

Gordon wasn't sure how he felt about what he had done. He was supposed to find a tribe with a god, and supposed to tell the god something about a truce, or else all of his former crewmates would be eaten alive by a hungry band of tropical snakes. From the sound of it, Atlas was running around the island killing everything that moved. And he had chosen as his companions in this journey two beasts who, so far as he knew, probably would turn and kill him on the spot if it became convenient. He could imagine his father saying that it was quite possibly the stupidest decision he had ever made.

And something felt very, very good about that.

It felt like revenge for all of the times his brother's military academy friends had made fun of him for reading poetry and playing with dolls. It felt like proving that he owned himself, that he wasn't just his father's son. It felt like burning all of his mother's stupid patriotic paintings. It felt like earning the right to call himself a pirate.

"So, Scully," a very tired-looking Captain Ciera Ancora knelt down to speak to him, "would you mind if I had a look at that dagger?"

A dark, satisfied smile crossed his face as he picked it up to show her.

But as he did so, he couldn't help but notice a large yellow eye watching them.


	38. A Strange Complaint

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **A Strange Complaint**

 _By: Fildering_

* * *

" _All say, "How hard it is that we have to die" — a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live._ " ~Mark Twain

Fildering crouched in the boat. It had been a long, long day.

Much of the evening had been spent in this boat; the same dinghy with which they had reached shore in the early morning. The vermin Captain, Vera, Scully, and the one they called Vas. Fildering shuddered, remembering the horrible screams of the cat as the hideous ocean predators tore him to bloody bits. Fildering groaned; his head still ached. He tried to put the frightening thoughts at the back of his mind.

 _Positive. Think positive thoughts, ol' boy. . ._

He stilled his mind, focusing on the present.

 _At least Vera's safe. Hmmph, half of her own bally determination, wot._ Vera had been the one to suggest they use the boat. Out here, a stone's throw from shore, they were safe from the island's freakish monsters; and that, Fildering decided, was a comforting thought. For now, at least.

He glanced at Vera's silent form in the bow of the dinghy. Seeing she was asleep, he fumbled in his pocket for a crumpled piece of paper, which he withdrew secretively. A smile alighted on his face as he looked at it.

"What's that you're reading?"

The hare looked up sharply, stuffing the paper back into his pocket as he whispered, "Thought you were asleep."

Vera's vulpine curiosity was clearly piqued. "Mayhap, and mayhaps not."

"It's silly, really. Nothing you'd be interested in, wot." Fildering felt his eartips go red. A part of him wanted to trust this vixen.

 _Not now. Later, when this is all over. Maybe then._

The fox's eyes gave away her obvious suspicion, but she gave it up for the moment, feigning indifference. "Have it your way, then."

Fildering sighed. He mentally kicked himself immediately afterward, but what was done was done. A hare had his pride to keep up.

* * *

The night was a decidedly cruel mistress in Fildering's eyes, for it had brought with it a sharp, biting northern wind from the sea; it felt like the jaws of some icy, primeval monster had latched onto the spines of both hare and fox. Fildering could tell Vera felt it: the fox had curled up into a tight ball in the bow, using her thick, brushy tail as a ward against the chill.

Fildering had not been blessed with such comfort.

 _What're you good for, eh? Stubby nuisance._ The hare looked down at his own small, fluffy bob tail, and then back to Vera's luxurious plume.

The fox noticed and sat up. "Jealous."

The hare nibbled at a piece of wood, as if hoping to find some sustenance there. There was none.  
"Maybe just a _little_ ," he admitted, then glanced awkwardly at the floorboards.

There was a long pause, during which neither beast said a word. The hare listened to the waves lapping softly against the side of the boat and watched the dark shoreline.

"I don't belong here," he said his thoughts aloud, then jumped, immediately startled that he had.

"Do I look like I _do_?" Vera replied, chuckling dryly.

"Well . . . yes, actually. You're, well, you're a piratey type, wot. Perfectly ordinary thing t' be out, dashin' across the seven seas. I'm no pillagin' buccaneer, and I'm not a Long Patrol hare, either."

"Then what are you?"

"I don't know, really," the hare said quietly. Things had changed.

He wished he hadn't spoken, and furthermore wished that Vera wouldn't press anymore.

"Do you mind if I ask where you're from? I'm from the Northeast myself," Vera prompted.

Fildering was glad of it; at least she was steering the conversation into more placid waters.

"Right on!" Fildering declared. "I'm from th' Northeast m'self, actually. Galbraith Hall."

"What's that like?"

"Oh, completely top-notch, wot. Splendid place. Th' lads an' I used to really keep th' cooks on their toes, donchaknow. M'sister never went, you know. Stayed home, said Lady Galbraith was too much of a bally stickler!"

"Hmm, never been there myself, but it sounds nice. You know, I'm not a pirate, either, by the way."

"What are you, then, old gel?" he asked, intrigued.

"Me?" Vera winked. "I'm just a cook."

* * *

 _"Fwildy, pass me th' ball!" the leveret said between laughs. Her new purple dress was all dirty from playing all afternoon in the grass and mud, and the hem would need darning later that evening for certain._

"Haha, see if you c'n blinkin' well catch

 _ **this**_ _!" The young buck leveret kicked the ball high overhead. Theodora Dillwithers hopped as high as she could manage, but the ball soared past her reach and ended in a briar patch on the south side of the sunny copse._

"Not fair!"

"Well, you were supposed t' catch it, wot!"

"You kicked it too high."

"Excuses, excuses. Come on now, y' know what Mater always says: the sky's the limit!"

"But you kicked it

higher than th' sky _." The little haremaid spread her arms as wide as she could for illustration. "Pleeeeze . . ."_

"Oh, fine, fine, Thea, I'll get it. Hmmph, but none o' this nonsense when I'm big. I'll be th' toughest old soldier y'ever saw! Won't take orders from flippin' gel types, by Jove I won't."

"Fwildy, mum said no swearing."

"Okay, okay!" the leveret laughed as he climbed into the thicket.  
The young buck at first regretted his decision- the briars were sharp, and the going was slow and painful -but at last he reached the middle of the patch and vanished beneath the thorns and brush.

Thea watched awhile, waiting. " . . . Fwildy? Fildering!"

"Fildering." It was Vera. "Have you even heard a word I've said?"

The hare spluttered, coming out of his short doze. "Ehwot? Brrr, hmm, oh, I say, right, yes, heard . . . every blinkin' word, old gel."

"Good, because I think that'd probably be our first option come sun's first light. What about you?"

"Oh, er . . . super wheeze, wot . . ." The hare shook his head, trying to get rid of the drowsiness enveloping him like a cloak. A heavy, woollen cloak.

"Do you really think our first option is our best option, though?"

"Ehm, er, I don't see why not." The hare glanced around for inspiration. Dull moonlight illuminated the sparkling waters and the shore, and that was when he noticed movement in the rocks.

"Well, it involves giving ourselves u- " the vixen began, but Fildering hushed her into silence.

"I think there's somebeast on the beach," he whispered, then stood up and waved his arms when he saw a pair of longears among the newcomers, raising his voice for emphasis: "I say, you chaps! Over here!"

It was Scully. Behind him were the ferret Captain and another vermin whose face Fildering did not recall. The younger hare was waving a small item on a necklace that scintillated brilliantly in the moon's glow, and Vera seemed more than pleased at the sight, although she evidently restrained herself from dashing giddily up the beach to claim the amulet. Instead, she simply got out of the boat and limped casually up the tideline, followed by Fildering.

 _Scully_. It was one familiar face in the storm.

Fildering saw the younger hare turn to Captain Ancora, who was walking alongside him, and something passed between the two of them. No matter! The hare soldier dashed up to greet them, his fears and doubts tossed away. This was a glad reunion. "Scully, old son! Where th' devil have you been? Vera an' I bally well thought you'd been scoffed, wot!"

Scully paused awkwardly, looking to the ferret beside him for guidance.

Ciera nodded, passing back to him whatever it was Scully had originally given her. The leveret accepted it.

Fildering stopped, glancing from ferret to young hare. "I say, you chaps, where's the smiles an' huzzahs, wot?"

The ferret Captain's face was impassive. She ignored Fildering and addressed Scully again: "Who was this hare again?"

"Th' moniker's Fildering Dillwithers, wot, y'verminous scullion type," interjected Fildering, still smiling but with his feeling of jubilation fading fast. "Where's Qwirry an' th' others?"

"I was asking Shipmate Craws," Ciera said contemptuously.

Scully replied, "The others were captured by the snakes."

"Jove! We'd better rescue them at once, then!"

"We?" said the stoat standing slightly behind Ciera. He sniggered nastily.

Fildering blinked in surprise. The scurvy vermin he had not initially recognized, Murdin, returned the grin and at once reached for his blade. Ciera stopped the overeager stoat with a meaningful look in her eye.

"What do _you_ say, Shipmate?" she asked Scully.

"Um, I . . ." Scully mumbled something incomprehensible.

Fildering looked at his paws. He was unarmed. "Scully, th' deuce . . . ?"

The leveret didn't respond and continued staring at the ground.

"Scully, y're a bloomin' Private in Lord Stormstripe's Waverunners. Snap out of it, wot!"

Scully raised his head to look at Fildering, summing up the courage to speak. "D-don't tell me what to do. I'm not a Waverunner anymore!"

"That's right, Mister Craws," said Ciera, taking on a wheedling tone. "The Waverunners don't own you. They can't tell you what to do."

"Stop that!" Fildering shouted at the ferret.

Ciera spoke, her tone condescending and sly. "Why? Scully has informed me that he'd like to become a pirate. I'm giving him a choice in life for once. Isn't that right, Scully?"

"I . . . I guess." Scully looked at his footpaws again, shuffling awkwardly.

"Y-you're one of _them_?" Fildering exclaimed, flabbergasted. "You're a . . . a blinkin' pirate? I thought we were chums!"

"Shuttup, rabbit," snarled Murdin. "Scully, mate, yer wid us now, aintcha?"

Ciera nodded. "Fildering knows your true allegiances now, Scully. He'll tell the others. What do you think should be done about that, eh?"

Scully chewed his lip, looking from Ciera to Fildering and back again. "But Fildering's my friend . . ."

"A dangerous friend is not a friend worth keeping," the ferret hissed, impatient.

"Let's just get it overwith an' kill 'im already," said Murdin, scowling. Ciera shot the overenthusiastic stoat a warning glare.

"He _is_ very dangerous, Scully. What do your instincts say?"

Scully took a deep breath and took one step forward, his paw trembling as he drew the dagger.

The leveret shuddered, indecisive for a moment before the dagger slipped from his shaking paw. "I-I can't do it!"

 _Good call, Scully_. The hare winked at the former cabin boy. "You've made the right decision, old fellow." Fildering turned and smiled triumphantly at Ciera. "Hah! I knew it! No beast fit to call 'imself a hare would betray his own."

Vera also faltered, uncertain for once.

Fildering stood proud. He turned to Vera, who was standing shakily on her injured leg. "Vera- wot d'you think about this villain? She let your matey Vas die without battin' an eye! Ran like a coward from th' lunatic badger! Think she won't do the same t' you someday, eh?"

"Shut up!" said Ciera, looking nervously at Scully. She shoved him aside. "I have to do everything myself, don't I?" The ferret turned to pick up the dagger.

That was when Murdin made his move. The stoat slashed out at the hare soldier from the side; Fildering had no time to react to the sudden attack. He made an odd little gurgling sound, pawing at his neck where the cutlass had sliced halfway through the large artery and remained there, stuck and quivering.

 _My god._

Scully screamed and ran at Murdin, knocking him to the ground and pummeling him with his little fists.

Vera rushed forward as fast as she could manage as the hare crumpled to the ground. He gasped and lay there, tears brimming unbidden in his eyes.

"Vera, old vixen . . . they've k-killed me, wot!"

Fildering realized the urgency of the situation and reached for his pocket, fumbling for something.

She leaned in. " _Filds!_ "

But Fildering didn't hear her. His paw fell slack as darkness closed around him like a smothering cloak. So cold.

Then he smelled something odd, and not at all humid or bloody like the island. It was the sweet smell of honeysuckle, coupled with that of grass and woodsmoke. It was suddenly warm, too, like early spring. He became aware that he was somewhere entirely different. Somewhere like . . . _home_.

* * *

"Come on, then. It's done," Ciera said flatly after several long minutes had passed.

Scully remained in a huddled position on the ground, his eyes red-rimmed long after he had stopped hitting and kicking at Murdin.

The stoat stood up, wiping his blade off on a rag. "Oh, come off it."

Ciera knelt next to Scully, her words a bit more consoling: "He was a Waverunner. You and I both know he was too dange- "

"He's my friend," Scully sobbed.

"Was," said Murdin.

"You're not helping here," spat Ciera, turning to glare at the stoat pirate.

"Fine, then . . ." Murdin stumbled over to the body and began picking through the belongings of the deceased. A silver ring, a sash, and the hare's doublet. Cleaned up a bit, and it could fetch a bit of coin. "Hoi, wot's this, eh? Haw haw!" The stoat had found the crumpled piece of paper.

"Give that here," Vera snapped, doing her best to sound nasty, and swiped it from his paws before he could make a retort. She had to know. Now that Fildering was dead-

Biting her lip, the vixen carried the paper over with her to a spot further up the beach, where she sat down heavily. Sighing, she smoothed out the paper and peered closely at it.

It was a poor little thing; a child's charcoal drawing. Two figures were drawn on it, both with long ears resembling dock leaves atop their simple, circular heads. The first had his chin raised up, and evidently what the young artist must have intended to be a dashing, perilous expression on his face. The other was drawn with long eyelashes, and wearing an overly detailed purple dress. Between her rosy cheeks was a carefree smile.

At the bottom of the picture were inscribed the words, in a child's simple handwriting: "feldring & me".

 _END OF ROUND 2_


	39. What's Past is Prologue

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **What's Past is Prologue**

 _by: Tooley_

* * *

Tooley stared, tooth and jaw working hard upon his hat.

He wouldn't forget this. He couldn't.

Beneath him, Chak slept upon a shallow bed of leaves. The otter's chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of easy breathing. His roughened face was softer in sleep, almost looking peaceful. Content. Unbothered by the rat who now lay beneath the sand, never to see the light of day again.

 _"The world ain't fair, Tools,"_ Daggle had sometimes said, his voice solemn and serious. Those were rare occasions, usually following a particularly raucous night of drinking which left the rat nursing his head for days. _"It's as cruel a place as y'can imagine, with fangs like an adder an' a bite like a badger. It's got it out fer the lot o' us. Pirates, 'specially. Don't e'er forget that."_

It never made much sense to Tooley. How could the world be so bad when it had the captain? And the ship? And Daggle? But the ship was gone. Daggle was gone. The captain... Tooley wasn't sure where the captain was. She was probably gone too.

Tooley pulled his hat from his mouth and regarded it. The fire in the small camp had fallen to mere embers by now, but the light was enough to see the new, large hole at the top of the hat. He looked once more at Chak.

Chak, who was still here. Chak, who still had his slaves. Chak, who was still breathing while others had fallen eternally still.

The world was truly a cruel place, and it was wrong. So very, very wrong. And there was nothing Tooley could do to fix it.

So he ran.

Ripping his gaze away from the otter, Tooley darted away from the camp. Thick vines and massive leaves scraped his legs as soon as he crossed the threshold from the beach into the dark jungle, but he kept running. The moonlight was choked out by the trees above, but he still kept running.

He didn't know how far he had run, or for how long, but something thin and wiry caught on his foot and brought him to an abrupt halt. Tooley yelped as he hit the jungle floor, enveloped under a mass of sinewy leaves and prickly stems. He came to a stop, chin digging into the soggy soil beneath the undergrowth.

Tooley rolled onto his back, coughing out dirt, gasping at the humid air, and clutching his throbbing footpaw. In-between breaths, he blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Despite the lack of light, he saw that his foot seemed to look all right, and didn't twist awkwardly like Daggle's had. It wasn't a "frac-shure," at least.

After catching his breath, he tentatively tried to get back onto his feet. A swell of pain coursed up his leg and he fell back down onto his tail with a grimace. Rubbing at his backside tenderly, he gazed up at the world around him, then felt his breath catch.

The jungle was dark, and he could only make out vague shapes, but one thing was clear: he was lost.

He set his jaw. Anywhere was better than being near Chak. He licked at his parched lips, suddenly aware of just how thirsty he was and regretting not stopping for a drink of the cool, crisp water from the stream. He groaned, then tried to think of something to distract him.

Crue came to mind first. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of how she had helped him row, and how she had laughed with him, and been kind to him and Daggle. She was nice. The smile faded and he winced, a sudden pang of guilt upon realizing that he had left her with Chak. She didn't deserve that.

Tooley shook his head and tried to think of something else. He patted at his waistcoat where he knew a pocket was. His paw pressed flat. He was still for a moment, then reached inside and dug around the pocket. Empty.

It was gone.

His breathing quickened and Tooley got to his knees. He ran his paws blindly in the jungle undergrowth. Had he dropped it? How long ago? Was it still back at the camp? He was so sure he had brought it along, though. He felt his eyes start to water when he heard a crunching sound ahead of him.

Footsteps.

Tooley looked up, half-expecting to find Chak standing above him with killing paws waiting. Instead, he saw a pair of small, beady eyes glinting in the dark. It was a small beast, much smaller than an otter. Tooley thought it might be Minstrel, but the snout was too long.

"Tooley?" asked a feminine voice.

It was the little rat he'd met back on the beach.

"Why'd ye run off?"

He'd heard Crue say her name... Plonko, or Plank. No, Plink, that was it.

"An' why are ye on the ground?"

She would know the way back to the camp, wouldn't she?

Tooley hesitated, the smile that had been working its way onto his face fading away as a question popped into his head. Why was she here? He'd left when everyone was asleep. Did someone send her after him? He paused. She had been with him, hadn't she? With Chak. He recalled Daggle's strange warning just the day before, _"These ain't yer friends. Don't ye trust no one, y'hear?"_

Feeling his fur stand on-end, Tooley straightened up on his knees and looked at Plink cautiously. "Why are ye 'ere?"

Her shoulder bobbed in a shrug. "Saw ye goin' an'... I was just curious." She reached a paw out to him. "So, where we goin'?"

 _We?_ Tooley blinked at the strange rat. "I'm, err... leavin'." He ignored her paw and tried to put his weight onto his foot. He winced at a throb of pain, but found that he could ignore it. Stumbling onto his feet, he started past Plink, eyes scanning the dark undergrowth below.

"Figured out that much m'self. Where to?" Plink asked, and he heard her following behind him.

"Err, well," he began, then hesitated. He shouldn't tell her, but... then again, he didn't even know where he was going. Before he could stop himself, he found his mouth moving, "I dunno."

Plink was silent for a moment, then said, "Right! Strikin' out inta the unknown like a _real_ pirate! How long ye been a pirate, anyway?"

His brow furrowed. "I dunno."

"How many ships ye been on?"

He chewed at his lip. "I dunno."

"Well, what do ye know, mate?"

Tooley felt her paw touch his arm, and he jerked away. "I ain't yer mate!" he snapped, and before he knew it he had spun around to face her. "I only had one mate, and yer otter pal killed 'im!"

Plink's beady eyes widened. She drew a short dirk from her coat and took a step back. "That otter ain't me pal," she spat.

"I don' care!" Tooley shouted. The heat of the jungle had suddenly become more oppressive. He could feel it burning within him, and it was a feeling he didn't like. "Jus'... jus' go an' leave me 'lone!"

A mixture of emotions crossed Plink's face, and Tooley couldn't identify them all before she whipped around and took several hasty steps away. She grunted, stumbling over something under the jungle foliage. She bent down and drew up something. Tooley couldn't see what it was, but he heard the coins jingle.

"'E-ey!" Tooley took a quick step forward, almost tripping as his foot struck the ground the wrong way. "Gi' that 'ere!"

Without a word, Plink turned and darted off. Tooley gasped and ran after her. The dense undergrowth slowed the small rat down, but Tooley's limp kept him at a constant distance from her. The chase was slow and meandering, with neither wanting to bump into a unseen tree.

Tooley saw Plink stop in front of a large tree trunk and glance at a briar patch that covered the right path. Before she could turn left and run, he kicked off with his good foot. He caught the edge of Plink's coat, and she shrieked as the two of them tumbled to the ground. He caught sight of Plink's dagger glinting as it flew from her grip. Plink shouted and bit at him as they rolled briefly. Then there was a snapping sound.

Dirt kicked up into Tooley's eyes as he felt something rough wrap tightly around him. The ground suddenly fell beneath him, and the world spun with a rush of wind. As soon as the movement stopped, Plink stopped struggling and pushed off of him, gaze wandering to look at the thick netting enveloping them.

Tooley caught sight of the tawny sack still in her grip, and he lashed a paw out. Plink yelped and drew back, causing Tooley to smack the sack. There was a sharp jingling sound as the sack fell, hit the netting below, and slipped through.

"No, no no _no_!" Tooley gasped, shoving a paw down. He felt the rough fabric brush his clawtip, but found no grip. He watched the sack disappear into the darkness below, a soft, metallic thump soon following.

"What was that for?" Plink shouted beside him. "Now we're trapped in some stupid net all because of your stupid bag of coins!"

He felt her sit down beside him in the net and huff out a breath. His gaze remained on the darkness below.

"I don't know why you're so sour," Plink grumbled. "It's just some money."

Tooley drew in a breath and blinked at his watering eyes. "But it's all I got left o' 'im..." he said softly.

There was a pause before Plink spoke, "That was your friend's?"

Tooley nodded.

There was another pause. "Oh..."

For a while, the only sound in the jungle was that of the chittering and buzzing of strange insects, and the constant groan of the vine net that shifted with their weight. Then Plink shifted and turned to face the net. She ran an appraising paw over it, then looked over her shoulder.

"This net ain't so tough. I'll bet we can bust outta here an' get yer bag back pretty easy."

Tooley blinked at her and the confident smile on her face. Maybe... maybe she wasn't too bad after all.

He felt a smile cross his lips, and he nodded. "Aye."

* * *

The net, as it turned out, was made of many different vines all woven together. Each was as thick as Tooley's arm, and twice as tough. Tooley and Plink both tried biting through the vines, but discovered that it was coated in something sticky and sour-tasting. Black spots had dotted Tooley's vision within seconds and the world began to spin wildly. He wasn't sure how long the world had spun, but when it finally cleared, neither he nor Plink wanted to try biting through again.

They settled for sitting back and trying to think of other ways out. Occasionally, one would perk up and suggest something, only to have the other instantly point out why it wouldn't work, leading them straight back into their respective thoughts. Multiple times, Plink stuck her paw into her undersized coat, but would only draw out an empty paw and look at it sourly. Tooley noticed her chew at her lip and look up accusingly at him, but whatever she had to say she kept to herself.

Hours must have passed, and eventually, both ran out of ideas.

Tooley grumbled and shifted his weight. Even for a limber, thin weasel, the net was cramped. Tooley once more stretched to try and stop the ache working upon his back. He found himself reminded of the brig, and felt homesick for the damp, dark cell. At least there he knew that he'd be let out eventually.

Plink, meanwhile, was hunkered down beside him, her legs propped up over his stomach while she had her arms folded at her chest. Her eyes hadn't stopped roaming the net, and every now and then she'd get up and try something new, only to sit back down again with a huff.

"Where'd you get that hat?"

Tooley opened his eyes and looked at Plink. She'd been mostly silent, only occasionally mumbling to herself aloud as she tried to work out a solution.

"Daggle says 'e gave it to me. T' 'elp me." He tapped a claw against a recently-added patch. "I ain't so good at memmerin' things."

She seemed confused, but nodded.

"What about yer coat?" Tooley asked, gesturing to the grey jacket she wore. It was well-worn, dingy thing, with frayed ends, ripped seams, and sleeves that seemed far too short for the rat.

She scraped her claws down the mis-matched buttons. "Found it," she said, then looked back up. "So, tell me more 'bout Daggle. How'd ye meet?"

Tooley squinted up at the netting. He tapped a claw against his arm as he tried to remember how Daggle had related it to him the times he himself had asked. "Err... well, we was both on th' _Deep Riv_ -, no, _Deep Water_ it was. Right ol' ship fer piratin'. Th' cap'n were a terrer, though. Killed a couple o' beasts jus' fer lookin' at 'im th' wrong way.

"Daggle an' me were deck'ands, an' we'd gone to port in..." his voice trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes and scratched at his head. "I... I don' know the name, but..." An image briefly flashed in his mind, and a smile crept across his face. "It were a pretty place, 'specially at night wit' th' stars all shinin'..." He shook his head. "A-any'ow, the cap'n sent us out ter get some grub, and we was walkin' down th' alley when five o' th' crew jumped out at us, swords drawn an' everythin'!

"Now, Daggle knew th' cap'n 'ad it out fer 'im, so 'e grabs up a broken lamppost and goes a swingin'!" Tooley batted a paw in the air as he spoke. "'E takes down 'em all down 'fore they could e'en lift their blades!"

Tooley looked at Plink, who had a funny expression on her face. "Don't you think he..." she paused, and her gaze fell down. She toyed with her paws, then said softly, "He sounds real brave, Tooley."

Tooley nodded, smiling widely. "Aye. Wish I could remem'er it fer meself. I'm sure it was amazin'!"

Plink nodded, then cocked her head to the side. "An' what then?"

Tooley scratched at his chin. "Well, 'e said that 'e knew th' cap'n wouldn't take nicely ter 'is crew bein' 'urt like that, an' that I couldn' go back either, so we looked fer another ship, and 'e found th' _Silver Maiden._ " His smile faded. "T'were a good ship, that 'un..."

A silence fell over the two. Some buzzing insect landed on Tooley's ear. His ear twitched and it flew off. Then it returned. He smacked a paw to his head, then looked disappointed at the lack of buggy bits smothered against his paw. He craned his head to listen for the buzzing. What caught his attention wasn't an insect, though, unless insect's on the strange island had learned to sing.

"Oh Jolly Roger ... town,  
wavin' a flag ...,  
... ol' fright o' great renown,  
Searchin' fer souls fer him t' drown!"

It was somewhere far off in the distance; a guttural voice that made a strange clacking noise occasionally. It was there, though, and that's what mattered.

Plink shuffled beside him. "Do ye hear that?"

"Aye," Tooley said, twisting around so that he could look out the net in the direction of the sound. He gripped a tough vine and pulled himself up to scan the darkness. "A-ahoy! Anyone out there?"

There was no response, nor any more singing. A stillness settled over the jungle, and Tooley's paws worked nervously across the rough net.

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind, and a massive, dark form latched onto a tree branch right in front of him. Tooley yelped and fell backwards against the net. The beast leaned in closer, and a pair of pale eyes as big as his paw focused in on him and Plink.

"Harrk," droned a dry, throaty voice, with a rigid, black beak shifting in the dark as the voice continued, "would ye look at what ole Maurick's found..."

Tooley winced at the bitter, hot breath of the beast - Maurick, apparently - and ducked his snout down.

"Fate be shinin' on me t'night, fate herself! Two liddle dirt-lubbers," Maurick continued. "Two, just fer me."

Tooley wasn't sure if it was the insects buzzing or the newcomer, but he swore he heard a chuckle follow those words. Maurick suddenly leaned away from the two. Tooley felt another gust of wind hit him, then heard shuffling up on the branch above them. Then he heard singing once again,

"Jolly Roger done found 'is mate,  
who offers out 'is piece o' eight,  
'Alas,' says Roger, 'tis too late,'  
'Fer now this night, ye meet yer fate!'"

There was a snapping sound, and Tooley was suddenly falling. He had time to cry out before he felt his back slam into the ground, Plink crash into his stomach, and the netting fall on top of them both. His breath came out in a choking wheeze, and he clenched his teeth against the pain that coursed up his spine. Amidst the pain, he wondered if a beast could "frac-shure" their spine.

He heard something fluttering above him, then a pair of broad, thick talons slammed down into the jungle undergrowth beside him. Tooley coughed as mud and dried leaves were scattered and sent into his face. Through squinted eyes, he watched as the beast waddled several steps forward and stopped.

"And what's this?" Maurick scanned down at the ground. He flicked a talon forward, drawing something up from the ground that jingled. "Ha har! If it isn't a pretty penny fer me troubles, t' boot!"

Tooley felt his shivering jaw open. "T-that's mine!"

"Not anymore, it's not." Maurick chuckled. The talon disappeared into his dark shape and when it came back down, the bag was gone. Suddenly a claw slammed down on a sagging section of the net, prompting a squeak from Plink, who narrowly missed being crushed.

Tooley suddenly felt the net drag forward several paces. He reached outside the net to steady himself, wincing as something cut at his paw. He looked to see what it was, catching a faint glimmer of metal between two shafts of leaves. It was Plink's dirk. He felt the net move again, and he quickly reached out for the dirk, managing to secure it by its blade. Gingerly, he drew it in.

"Get us out!" Plink whispered urgently, cocking her head at a section of net beside her.

Tooley nodded, steadying the blade in his paw near a thick vine. He heard a ruffling sound, and Maurick's voice chimed in darkly, "Brace yerselves, dirt-lubbers."

There was a heavy blast of air, and Tooley once more felt the ground fall beneath him. He yelped and clenched his eyes shut as he saw the ground racing up to meet him again, but no crash or pain came this time. There was a steady whooshing above him, and slowly, he opened his eyes to see a dark mass of treetops below him.

Tooley scrambled wildly backwards, breathing heavily. He was in the air. Very, very high in the air.

"Savorin' the sights, are ye?" he heard Maurick say above him.

He looked up, and now in the moonlight could see that the beast was a large bird, feathers a dark green with blue tips upon his outstretched wings that carried them further and further into the sky. Tooley risked looking away from the bird.

There was a large mountain in the distance, its rocky sides contrasted by the soft, white glow of the moon. On the other side, Tooley made out what looked to be the edge of the beach, where Crue and the others were no doubt still sleeping. Briefly, he wondered if they knew he and Plink were gone, and if they cared.

Plink, meanwhile, was gripping the net tightly, her eyes wide. She briefly glanced at the knife still gripped in Tooley's paw, then shook her head quickly at him. He nodded in agreement.

"Ye pitiful wretches, I know yer type," Maurick began, his voice barely audible over the whooshing of his wings. "Pirates. Harrk! I've seen a thousand like ye come an' go.

"An' I know yer black hearts! Ye think I be lyin'?" Maurick chuckled lowly. "I was on the seas long before ye were born! An' long before that clever devil Blade be makin' his mark, too. Never trusted foxes, an' him least among 'em... dirty clever devils..."

Tooley felt Plink move beside him. "But... Captain Blade was a rat," she shouted up at the bird, a mixture of hesitance and pride in her voice.

"Hah harrk! Ye think so, do ye, missy? Ye think the beast who went around unitin' all the pirates could be a dimwitted rat? Nay, he be a fox an' don't ye doubt it." Maurick's tone grew dark. "Foxes... cunnin', backstabbin' beasts."

An awkward silence followed, and Plink risked speaking again, "W-where are ye takin' us?"

Maurick either didn't hear, or didn't care to respond. "I once sailed with a fox, called himself Wetfang. Cowardly liddle thing he'd have ye believe, but oh, that were a lie. A good, good lie.

Tooley noticed that Maurick's wings had stopped beating, and now they were coasting downwards. There was a small clearing of trees, and the largest seemed to be their destination. Notably, the small, weather-beaten hut that was built upon a particularly large branch.

"Wetfang kept 'is head down that way," Maurick continued, "an' he thought nobeast noticed him stealin' every bit o' loose coin on the ship, but ole Maurick did. Maurick sees everythin' that goes on."

Maurick dove sharply, cutting past a tree branch before swooping up. He released the net, and for a heart-pounding second, they were free-falling. Tooley felt his breath catch as he stared down at the darkness below him, which was suddenly replaced by a large platform of wood right below them.

Tooley and Plink tumbled hard upon the platform, the net wrapping over them several times before they finally came to a stop. Tooley groaned, pushing himself up onto his knees and looking around. They were in some sort of house, the inside dark and stale-smelling. Tooley shivered. He didn't like this place.

Maurick suddenly landed beside them. The bird didn't even glance their way as he stalked off into the hut, wings folded close to his side.

"Har, but for all a fox be clever, a macaw be cleverer still," Maurick muttered, almost to himself. "We be livin' long past yer count o' seasons, long past, long enough t' see the truth in front of us when other beasts can't bear the sight. An' ye can bet I saw the truth o' Wetfang; he was a pirate, through an' through. An' every pirates's weakness be themself."

Plink smacked Tooley's arm and gestured outside of the net. He looked and saw that the knife had landed a little ways away from the net. He quickly reached out and snatched the dirk up. He glanced cautiously back at Maurick, who was shuffling through something in the back of the hut.

"I'll keep him distracted," Plink muttered, her tone urgent. "Hurry!"

Tooley nodded, bending to a segment of the vine and starting to saw away with the blade. The net was surprisingly tough, and he found that he had to shove his weight into the blade to even cut into the first layer of vine.

"So," he heard Plink say behind him, "what happened to Wetfang?"

The bird made a huffing, throaty sound before he started to speak, "We was headin' cross the sea one hot summer, when ole Thrushtail comes boundin' out of his chambers. He's missin' a compass that he got from his dear ole dam. Every beast starts laughin', but I got my eye sharp on one beast, an' Wetfang ain't laughin' with the rest. Then the captain's maps go missing the next morn. No beast is laughin' now. Then, he stole somethin' from me." His tone grew dangerous, and his throat made an odd rattling sound. "Somethin' real special."

Tooley's ear perked up, and he paused his cutting. Slowly, he focused back on the netting, but he made sure to twist his ear back to better hear the bird.

"Oh ho ho, he thought he could cross the whole world, but no beast crosses Maurick an' lives. I could o' done him in there, but that's what a regular pirate would o' done. I was smarter." His voice lowered to a hushed whisper. "Day an' night, I waited. Soon, the crew forgot, then the captain, but I remembered. I remembered what it was he'd done, would o' clawed out me own heart rather'n forget it."

Daggle's bloated, dead-eyed stare flashed in Tooley's mind. He shut his eyes and shook his head, but the image remained.

"Wetfang grew slow. He stopped stealin', and then forgot that 'e ever had. An' then, when that flea-bitten scum least expected it, I _reminded_ him." Maurick chuckled darkly. "Do ye know that a macaw's beak is sharper than any blade on the sea, missy? Y'shoulda heard the excuses come outta his sorry mouth, but there ain't no stoppin' retribution once it comes. I made 'im pay fer everythin' he ever took from me. Even took a few shots fer me mates' sake! Ha harrk!"

The bird's cackling laugh echoed through the hut. Tooley found himself gripping the dirk so tightly that it was cutting into his paw, but he didn't care. His mind was already back to that morning. Back to Daggle's wild thrashing and panic-stricken face, and the otter. The otter who had gripped Daggle's neck so tightly as he plunged the rat underneath the waves. The otter who hadn't cared in the slightest about Daggle's cries for mercy. The otter who'd killed his friend and got away with it.

The vine suddenly snapped loudly, breaking Tooley from his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder to see Plink give him a warning glare before she turned back to face Maurick. She said something, but he didn't hear what.

He drew the dirk up to his face, blinking at the sticky ooze from the vine that now coated the steel. He hesitated, catching a glimpse of his reflection upon the blade. He looked down at the next vine and his brow furrowed. Before he could hesitate further, he slammed the blade deep into the thick vine, all the way to the hilt. The blade had pierced through the skin of the vine easily, and more of the sticky ooze bled out from the cut as Tooley jerked the blade back and forth in hacking motions.

Daggle had been right. The world was a cruel place. But some things could be made right.


	40. The Breaking Point

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **The Breaking Point**

 _by: Vera_

* * *

Vera's paw trembled as she stared at the child's drawing. When Fildering had talked about his sister earlier in the jungle, Vera pictured an older, bossy sister.

 _He had a little sister..._

Somewhere out there, Fildering had a little sister, one he obviously loved, if he carried the drawing with him all this way. Somewhere back in Mossflower, there was a little haremaid who loved her big brother.

A big brother that she'd never see again.

Vera swallowed the huge lump in her throat as the memory of her own brother surfaced. The adoration of a little sister never really went away. Very carefully, she folded the paper back up. She reached under her poor, tattered apron and slid it into the hidden pocket.

Every little sister needed to know her big brother was brave and strong.

The vixen very slowly pushed herself to her feet. She limped her way back up the beach towards the others as the chilly night wind dried the fur on her cheeks.

 _Why didn't I do something? He saved my life. He helped me. Why couldn't I have done the same?_

There had been no time. Murdin had moved before Vera could so much as draw breath. She'd been more worried about Ciera. She'd taken a step towards the ferret, just before Murdin had moved.

Vera could see Ciera and Murdin picking through the weapons that were left behind when the snakes had dragged off the Waverunners. Scully sat by himself, still sniffling.

 _He's just a kid. Not much older than I was..._

Anger steadied her step and she stalked up to Murdin and gave him a hard shove in the back. "You moldy pile of kitchen scraps! Why did you do that?"

Murdin staggered, then turned. He drew his cutlass. "Ye wanna make somethin' of it there, cooky."

"Vera," Ciera began, a warning in her tone.

Vera turned on her former captain. "I'm sick of you pirates! All of you! Fildering never did anything wrong. He didn't deserve that. He took on a snake! By himself! He was more a warrior than any of you traitorous pirate scum."

Ciera backhanded her hard, sending her sprawling into the sand.

"That is enough!" Ciera snarled.

Vera pressed a paw to her muzzle. She could taste blood. But Ciera's blow cleared her head. _That was stupid... I'm lucky she didn't just run me through._ In her short time aboard the _Silver Maiden_ , Vera had seen crew killed for less. "I'm sorry, Ciera. It's just that..."

"That's Captain Ancora to you!" Ciera said.

Vera fixed her eyes on the sand. "Aye. Captain."

Ciera leaned close, her breath hot in the vixen's face. "Do you want to die here, Vera? Do you ever want to feel Mossflower under your paws again? Because there's no way that your mate Fildering would have let us aboard a Waverunner vessel. One word from him, and we'd have been stuck here."

"But I thought that was your plan when we first landed," Vera said meekly, and then added, "Captain."

Ciera looked over the pitiful remains of her crew. "That was the plan. Unfortunately, we've got a more immediate problem to deal with. We were captured by snakes, and they seem to think that Mister Craws is a messenger from some "fire god." They've tasked us with brokering a truce from this god's followers. They're watching us right now to make sure that we get the job done correctly. Being eaten by snakes is a more immediate threat than starving to death on this Fates-forsaken island, so we're going to worry about this bloody peace treaty first, and hitching a ride second. Understand?" Ciera placed a paw on the hilt of a cutlass she'd picked up from the beach.

"I... Yes, Captain Ancora," she said, knowing any other answer would leave her as dead as Fildering.

Ciera straightened her jerkin. "We've still got some time before daylight. Get some sleep while you can."

Scully looked up at her, "Um, Captain. Could we, you know, bury Fildering first? He..."

"Was the enemy, Mister Craws. The sooner you realize that, the better. Besides, digging a grave will take too long. We've got a long trek ahead of us tomorrow and I won't have beasts lagging behind because they didn't get sleep when they had the chance."

Under Ciera's watchful eye, the bare remains of the pirate crew bedded down as best they could in the sand. Vera glanced towards the jungle, uncertain if she'd sleep for fear of snakes. No one on this beach would care if another serpent decided to see what fox tasted like.

She must have fallen asleep, because she sat up suddenly, heart racing at some half-remembered dream. She looked around. Dawn colored the sky. Murdin and Ciera both slept. Scully's space lay empty, but she spied him over where they'd left Fildering's body.

He was digging.

 _Stubborn leveret,_ Vera thought as she lay back down and closed her eyes. She could hear the scrape of his paws in the damp sand and thought she heard sniffling in between. She opened her eyes and lifted her head once more. Then she sighed and climbed wearily to her feet. Her leg ached as she limped over to him.

"You should be asleep," she said.

"I don't care," he sniffed. "I don't care what the Captain says. He was my friend. I can't... I won't just leave him here like this."

Vera looked at the shallow hole the young hare had managed to scratch out so far with his bare paws. "You don't have time for this. Ciera's going to wake up soon and we're going to get moving. She won't let you finish."

He kept digging stubbornly.

Vera sighed and looked out to sea. _Even if I helped him, we won't get done in time. We'll just wear ourselves out._ Her eyes fell on the boat that had brought them here from the _Silver Maiden_. High tide had beached it, but now the waves were receding little by little down the beach. It gave her an idea.

She cleared her throat. "I spent half a season living with a tribe of shrews once, not long after I left home. Learned to bake shrew bread from them. While I was there, one of their old warriors died." She slowly crouched down to lean close to Scully, wincing as her leg twinged. "Shrews don't bury their dead, you know. They put them in a logboat and send them down the river."

Scully paused in his digging and looked up at her. She continued, "There's more than one way to deal with the dead, Scully. We've got a boat right here, and I think the tide is going out. Do you think a water burial would be all right?"

Scully looked at the boat, then at Fildering, and back to the boat. "I guess so."

"Help me move him then."

Between the two of them, they got the dead hare into the little ship's boat and arranged him carefully in the bottom. Scully trotted away for a moment and Vera smoothed down part of Fildering's bloodstained uniform.

 _I wonder if we could have been friends. It's been too long since I had one._

She climbed out of the boat and pulled her apron off so it would stay safe and dry above the tide line while they pushed the boat. Scully returned with an unclaimed cutlass. He placed it beside Fildering so it was close to paw. Then the two of them slowly pushed the boat back into the sea. A wave swelled and Vera hung onto the side as it floated free of the sandy bottom. They waded in up to their waists. She felt the pull of the receding tide.

"On the count of three, give it a good hard push. All right?"

Scully nodded.

"One. Two. Three."

The hare and fox shoved together and the little boat glided away.

Vera limped back to dry land and picked up her apron. She glanced back at Scully, who stopped at the edge of the surf, staring after the little boat as it bobbed further and further away. She heard him recite softly.

"Listen lost friends,  
we'll meet again.  
When the game ends,  
then we go home.  
Let's hope it's soon,  
please come back soon."

The vixen cleared her throat roughly. "You should get some sleep while you still can."

He nodded wearily and they walked back up the beach. As they approached Ciera and Murdin, Vera grabbed him by the arm and whispered, "Listen to me. Fildering was a rare beast. You don't find his type very often." She looked at the two slumbering pirates, then leaned closer. "Be very careful who you decide to trust."

The young hare blinked a few times and nodded somberly. Satisfied, she released his arm and they both lied back down in the sand. Vera folded her apron carefully, mindful of the paper in the hidden pocket, and used it as a pillow. Thinking of the paper prompted something else in her memory that had been shoved aside by the tragedy of the night.

"Say, Scully," she whispered. "Do you have my necklace? I thought I saw it before Fildering and I got out of the boat."

He shook his head. "The Captain took it."

Vera hissed softly through her teeth. "Okay." _Darn that ferret..._

Scully curled up facing her, pillowing his head on his arm. "So, you lived among shrews?"

She shifted in the sand, trying to get comfortable. "Yes."

"Why'd they, um, let you stay?"

"I can be very persuasive." She closed her eyes, hoping the young hare would get the hint.

"Why'd you want to stay?"

"Scully, go to sleep."

"But..."

She opened her eyes and glared. "Sleep, hare! You can chatter my ear off in the morning."

She heard him sigh, roll over, and mutter, "It kinda is morning..."

 _Full daylight, you little fuzz brain. After I've gotten some rest and figured out how I'm going to get my amulet back from Ciera._

* * *

A footpaw prodding her in the ribs jarred Vera awake. She looked up into the hard eyes of Ciera Ancora. "Good morning, Captain. Sleep well?" She plastered on a pleasant smile.

"Tell me, Vera," Ciera said and a chill ran down Vera's spine. "What happened to the ship's boat that was on the beach a few hours ago?"

Vera's smile faltered and she glanced across the sunny beach to where her and Scully had worked in the early dawn light. In the sand left damp by the receding tide, two pairs of footprints, fox and hare, could be seen. She licked dry lips. "Um, we... I... suggested we give Fildering a sea burial."

She yipped in pain as Ciera grabbed her by the shoulder, digging her sharp claws into Vera's skin. "Did it ever occur to you that we might have needed that boat? We? Us? The beasts who are still alive? As opposed to the dead hare who is dead?"

Ciera shoved Vera back down. The vixen stared wide eyed. _I didn't think of that. Why didn't I think of that!_

Murdin snickered from where he lay stretched out in the sand. "Ahoy, Captain. I think yer backstabbing cook may need a lesson or two t' drive the message home that ye be captain an' not 'er, aye? A lashin' or two? Take a length off o' that pretty tail? Maybe stake 'er out an' let the tide run over 'er?"

Scully squeaked softly and hunched down in the sand as if he were the one about to receive the captain's wrath.

Ciera looked to Murdin and then back to Vera. "Perhaps..." She drew her cutlass.

The vixen opened her mouth, trying to get her exhausted mind to catch up with the events, but nothing seemed to come out. She scrambled back through the sand, her wounded leg crying out at the strain.

Ciera's cutlass hovered in her view. "Remind me why I hired you again, Miss Silvertooth?"

Vera found her voice and it was a pitiful little thing. "Because you needed a cook."

"Right." The ferret leaned down. "So perhaps you better turn your attention to being just a cook and keep your paws out of everything else. The only reason I'm not giving you what you so rightly deserve is because right now, I need every able bodied beast I can muster." Ciera glanced down at Vera's wounded leg. "Even if one barely qualifies for that. You are in dangerous waters, Miss Silvertooth. Tread carefully." Ciera stepped back and replaced her sword in her belt. Vera sagged into the sand with a shuddering gasp.

Captain Ciera said, "On your feet, crew. We're going to comb this beach for something to eat before we go looking for Scully's fire god."

Vera's trembling paw found her apron and she stumbled to her feet before shaking the sand from the tattered garment. She slipped the neck loop of her apron over her head and tied the strings behind her back. She smoothed the front down out of habit, momentarily shocked at the soft crinkle of Fildering's paper in the hidden pocket, instead of the cool, solid amulet she'd grown so used to feeling.

 _Well, I am definitely not bringing THAT up right now._ She glanced over her shoulder and noticed Ciera watching her with that cold, flat stare. Clearing her throat, Vera looked about the beach and noticed some rocks the low tide had bared on the beach. Slowly she limped down there to see if there were tidal pools that had left any fish behind.

 _Right. I'm still alive. I can play this game. Patience. Get Ciera to trust me again. Start there._


	41. Following the Leader

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Following the Leader**

 _By: Gordon/Scully_

* * *

 _Brother Sage was having a bad day again._

 _"Why are you so sad?" Gordon asked his tutor._

 _"Memories," he sighed._

 _"Of when?"_

 _"... Friends."_

 _"Who?"_

 _"... Redwall Abbey."_

 _Gordon spilled his tea. Then, he remembered Mommy's question._

 _"So, um… why'd you leave Redwall Abbey?"_

 _"My friends there didn't like another friend of mine," Sage sighed. "They found letters he had written me. I don't blame them. They were scared."_

 _"So, they, um... made you leave?"_

 _"They forced me to pick sides."_

 _"Oh." Gordon nodded his head as though he understood. "Who was your other friend?"_

 _"A ferret," he said._

 _"How'd you get to be friends with a ferret?"_

 _"He grew up with me at the orphanage in Carrigul. He was a little older than me, and very smart. He taught me what I've taught you."_

 _"You mean, like history and maths?"_

 _"No. I mean the things you aren't supposed to tell mommy or daddy about."_

 _"Oh!" his tiny voice squeaked. "You mean, like how to steal a map, and, um... replace it with a fake, so, like... no one notices until they look at it up close?"_

 _"Exactly."_

 _"Oh! Or like, um, how I just pretend to be a lost kid whenever any of the generals catch me in their offices?" He giggled._

 _"Right."_

 _"How come the abbey didn't like you writing letters to him?"_

 _The warm wind of a summer afternoon blew by, bringing with it the smell of gladiolus. Brother Sage sighed._

 _"He didn't fit into their categories. Mediocre beasts don't like those who think for themselves."_

 _"Oh." Gordon nodded in complete agreement._

 _"You know, I wrote him a poem, once, after he left. I was just a few seasons older than you."_

 _'Listen lost friends,_  
 _we'll meet again._  
 _When the game ends,_  
 _then we go home._  
 _Let's hope it's soon,_  
 _please come back soon.'_

 _"Do I have to memorize this one?"_

 _"No, Brother Hagglethrump. You do not need to remember this one."_

* * *

Fildering was dead, his body at sea. It was all Gordon's fault. He had brought the violent storm of careless bloodshed, the stoat named Murdin, into the camp. He had chosen Ciera as his captain, and Fildering had paid the price.

Their early morning search for food had uncovered some unusual fruit, wild onions and peppers, and a tidal pool in which were caught five fish and two small crabs. Vera prepared them a breakfast of fish with a chutney dipping sauce.

Gordon dipped the piece of fish into the fruity, spicy sauce and put it in his mouth. He felt small fish bones poking around in his gums, but he crunched down on them with his teeth and ground them up like seeds. He had never eaten fish before.

Vera walked over to him carrying a crab. He looked her in the eyes.

"Excuse me, um, but... why did you become a pirate?"

"For the last time, I am _not_ a pirate! _Not_ a pirate! I am a cook. I signed up to be a cook and my job description was to cook things. Do I look to you like I belong with this kind of crew?"

"Oh. Sorry.""Listen, Scully. You need to move on quickly. If you keep dwelling on Fildering, it will make you crazy. "

SLAM. CRACK. Vera's crab mallet split open the crab's shell. She left him with it. He picked away the shell and ate its innards with relish. He had never eaten crab before.

After Vera had left, Ciera walked up to him.

"Shipmate Craws, I don't know what you think pirate life is. But you need to understand how things work here."

Gordon twisted his whiskers in his paw.

"Pirates do not think about the future. They have bilge for brains, you hear? They see a threat, an enemy soldier, and they don't think it through and listen and negotiate. They take action today and regret it tomorrow. They don't think, they just do."

"Am I next?" He looked down at the ground. The sand had worked its way into the fur on his legs, and it chafed against his skin.

"You are not a threat. You have nothing to be afraid of, so long as you stay useful. Freeing me from the snakes was useful."

He saw Murdin, standing only a few yards down the beach, close enough to listen in. Ciera stepped in front of Murdin, so that he could not watch them talking, and spoke more softly.

"Show me that dagger again."

Gordon removed the dagger and showed it to her, the name "Blade" engraved on the side reflected in the morning sun.

"Where did you get this?"

"Someone gave it to me, Captain."

"Who?"

"My tutor. A mouse. From Redwall."

"Where did he get it?" She took it in her paws and examined it closely.

"I don't know."

"What did he tell you about it?"

He coughed. "Um, well... he said it used to belong to Blade, the pirate king. Was that true?"

"Sort of. He carried it a very long time ago, yes, before others knew him by that name. When we were more idealistic. Before he was a 'pirate king'."

"Can you tell me more about him?"

"Not right now," she said, looking back at Murdin. "We'll talk more later."

Ciera then spoke up loudly for Vera and Murdin to hear.

"Listen, crew. The snakes will not stay asleep for long. We need to start looking for this native 'fire god', or whatever it is, soon. The snakes said their enemies were mongooses. Let's split into teams to look for signs of activity by any mongooses, especially any local symbols or scripts. Vera, you stick close to me. Murdin, keep Scully safe. His life is worth more to me than yours. Meet back here before high noon."

Gordon looked back at Murdin, who said nothing, but smiled and laughed noiselessly.

* * *

Scully followed closely behind Murdin, stepping on exactly the same spots where Murdin stepped. The jungle was full of traps. They had passed one that had sprung on someone recently: the body was gone, but the blood was still red. Traps meant that the native camp was near.

"Watch yer step, lil' leveret!" Murdin laughed. "Cap'n can't blame me if yer own stupidity gets ye _impaled_."

"I'm not stupid."

"Yeah ye are."

"I know how to steal stuff and not get caught."

"Great."

Murdin grabbed Gordon's quiver of arrows off of his back.

"Hey!" Gordon protested.

"I know how to not care about getting caught."

Gordon clung more tightly to his bow.

"Ye want to be a pirate?"

"Yeah."

"Then shut up. Look up there."

Murdin pointed at a tree. A bright white bandage was wrapped around the head of a shrew, who was hanging off of one of the branches.

"Morton!" Gordon shouted up at the shrew.

"S-s-scully! You won't believe it. Atlas has gone mad, completely mad! He's killing all of the survivors. I barely escaped. He's absolutely crazy!"

"Uh, yeah. Obviously, Morton." Gordon interrupted him, rolling his eyes.

"Do you have any water?" Morton asked.

Murdin threw a rock at Morton, which hit him on the head and knocked him out of the tree. He fell to the ground with a sickening crunch. Gordon winced and felt a rush of pity — but then, something inside him shut down, and he didn't feel bad anymore.

"Seen any natives?" Murdin barked at the body on the ground.

"Wh-wh-what?" The shrew was crying in pain, unable to lift himself up. "Wh-wh-who?"

"Natives?"

"N-n-no."

Murdin removed his flask and poured some water onto the shrew's face. The shrew licked up the drops.

"Mongooses?" asked Murdin.

"Wh-wh-who are you? Scully, mate, who is this? One of the corsairs?"

Scully hadn't known the shrew that well.

"Mongooses?" demanded Scully.

Murdin took out his knife, grabbed the shrew's foot, and cut off one of his toes. He screamed.

"Mongooses?" demanded Murdin.

"No! No! No!" the shrew coughed out.

"Fire god?" asked Murdin.

"What? Please… please... I'm sorry. I don't know… I don't know..."

"Fire god! Where is the fire god?" asked Scully.

The shrew was whimpering. "I don't..."

Murdin grabbed the shrew by the neck to choke him, and handed his knife to Scully.

"Next toe."

Scully began hyperventilating. "Wait... huh... no... huh... I'm... huh..."

"You want me to take your toes instead, leveret?"

Scully took the knife. At that moment, the burden of guilt he had carried since that morning fell from his shoulders. His anxieties went away, and a flood of peace washed over him. He felt light-headed, like he was watching himself from the outside, floating above his body. He counted the shrew's furry toes. He noticed that shrews had five toes, unlike mice, which had only four.

"Next toe, now!"

He grabbed the foot and held it steadily in his paw. Scully's heartbeat slowed down, and he breathed slowly, deeply and calmly. He felt a sweetly sickening tenseness at the bottom of his stomach. He cut the toe off, and wiped the knife blade on his shirt.

A warm sensation flooded his body. He was in control. Three toes remained, the same as the number of the three fates. One-by-one, methodically, he removed the other toes from the creature's foot.

When he finished, he realized the creature's body was already limp and dead. Murdin had choked it to death.

"He didn't know anything," Murdin said.

"He was stupid," Scully said.

"Good job." Murdin patted Scully on the head. He returned his arrows.

"That's what happens when you follow Atlas," Scully said triumphantly.

"Yep."

Scully pulled the vial of hemlock out. He dipped the tips of his arrows in it, like he had dipped the fish in the dipping sauce.

"That hare we killed last night… he wouldn't have survived very long out here anyway."

"Nope."

* * *

The jungle was warm and sticky as the sun rose higher in the sky. Scully and Murdin went deeper into the jungle. They spotted mongoose tracks, but the trail quickly disappeared. They found fresh weasel tracks heading in the opposite direction. Then, they saw badger tracks.

Scully fitted one of the arrows into his bow, and held it in his arms as they walked.

The jungle was quiet. Scully heard a voice in his head... or was it a distant voice carrying on the wind?

 _Daggers all around ye,  
ye know ye've gone too far…_

The phrase stuck in his head, repeating over and over as he walked. He didn't recognize it. He pulled the bow tight, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Murdin stopped walking. "Shhh!". He pointed at a spot of red fur visible through the jungle, in a small valley by a stream. He looked at Scully and nodded.

Scully nodded back. He quietly sneaked down to investigate.

By the stream stood a red squirrel, drinking from her cupped paws. The tufts of fur atop her ears blew in the breeze. Scully watched her, confused. A twig snapped beneath his foot. She sniffed the air, and began looking around.

Before she could see him, he fired one of the arrows straight in her direction. He burst through the woods, charging straight towards her.

But the arrow had missed, hitting the ground next to her.

"Scully!" she shouted at him.

It was Crue, the healer from the _Zephyr_.

"Scully, you're alive!" she shouted in glad surprise. "I didn't expect to see you alive! I mean... are you okay? Do you need something to eat?"

Something re-awoke inside of Gordon. He stood in front of her, shocked, staring at the arrow next to her.

"Mister Rosequill survived as well, and so did Plink! She was asking about you, actually. We've made camp not far from here with a few other... survivors, and I'll show you where it's at. It's not much, but at least you'll have friends and food and shelter." She paused, but was met only with silence. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Gordon didn't move. Crue followed his line of sight, until she saw something lying next to her. Gordon lowered his head and looked at his feet.

"Stop. Don't... touch it."

She pulled it out of the ground.

"What is this?"

"No, don't touch it."

He motioned at the arrow in her paws. She looked closely at the discolored tip.

Gordon's tongue felt like it had swollen to fill his entire mouth. She looked at him.

"Why shouldn't I touch it?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her eyes moved between the arrowhead and Scully. "Did you shoot this?"

"P-p-p-puh... puh..."

"What is this on the tip?"

He took a deep breath.

"Dipping sauce."

He ran away. He ran away from Crue, and away from everything, blindly into the jungle, where she could never find him. She must never find him. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he knew he had definitely gone too far.

* * *

It was noon. Gordon had been wandering for an hour. He was lost. Murdin had undoubtedly returned without him by now. The crew would have moved on, assuming he was dead. The jungle was too dense and thick to see anything.

A piece of a poem came to mind, one that Brother Sage had taught him.

 _When the forest's dense and you can't see,  
climb a tree, mate, climb a tree!_

He slowly scaled one of the large, reddish brown trees with twisting roots. The tree smelled like tanned animal hide, like Murdin's boots.

He reached the top of the canopy, and he could see the tree tops spreading out in front of him for miles. But behind that, towards the northwest, he saw a large mountain. The mountain was completely barren, a massive black rock, and the ocean nearly surrounded the mountain, almost as though it were a moat. Another poem of Sage's came to mind, from the month they had spent studying cultural zoology:

 _Hail thou god of fire!  
We offer unto thee  
the finest of our captives,  
grant us liberty!_

Hail thou god of fire!  
Thou reigneth midst the sea,  
thy dwelling in death's mountain  
for eternity!

Of course! On the search for the 'fire god', they had been thinking like civilized beasts, not like primitives. Primitives believed that gods lived within mountains, shaking the earth when they were angry. If there was a mountain on this jungle island too sacred for any vegetation to grow on it, then it was _obvious_ to the primitive mind that their fire god lived there.

Gordon looked in the other direction. Looking behind him, not too far from his tree, he saw the ocean, and the beach, and three beasts marching northward along the beach.

He scurried down the tree and ran off in their direction. A short time later, he emerged from the jungle and ran towards his crew.

"Captain! Captain!" he shouted at Captain Ancora.

"Scully!" Vera shouted at him.

Captain Ancora shot Murdin an annoyed look. "You said that a squirrel killed him."

"Captain! We can save everyone!" Gordon shouted, feeling giddy with relief as he caught up with them. "I know where the fire god is!"

" _Where_ is the fire god?" Murdin stared at him, incredulous.

"In the mountain!" Gordon pointed towards the Northwest.

Murdin snorted. "How do you know?"

"My tutor... told me. Sort of."

Vera and Murdin looked at him blankly. But Captain Ancora nodded. She believed him.

"Anyway, let's go!" Gordon shouted in excitement. "This fixes everything!"

"Very well," said Captain Ancora. "Scully's idea is as good as any. We've certainly wasted too much time on this beach." She motioned towards the Northwest.

"Murdin, Vera, follow mister Craws."

But they had walked only a few paces when another small figure emerged from the jungle, running straight towards them.

It was Plink.


	42. Three of a Trade Can Never Agree

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Three of a Trade Can Never Agree**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

Plink squirmed against Tooley's back to get in a better position and glanced around the hut, though there was little she could see. The macaw was still chuckling and muttering to himself as he clattered sticks into a heavy pan, his shape vaguely distinguishable from the shadows. A perfect circle was punched through the high roof, revealing a faint glow of the coming dawn, but darkness clung inside the domed hut, as did a foul stench of overripe fruit and bad meat.

A snap cut the quiet and Plink twisted to glare at Tooley by the faint light coming through the door, then hurriedly licked her lips and worked to put a smile in her voice.

"This- this's a mighty fine house ye got here, matey!" she squeaked a bit too loudly. "Did ye build it yerself?"

"Oh, ye like me house, do ye?" Maurick pitched his voice high and sarcastic. "Well aren't you just a liddle lady of a rat! Mayhaps I ought ta take ye on as me housekeeper. Har, ye can polish all me silver." He chuckled at the notion - softly, as if he was genuinely considering it - but then his tone darkened. "Nay, ye'd just turn against me like that scum Rippear. Wretched whinin' dog, that _scum_."

The macaw crossed the room in a few waddling steps and bent down so his beak was near enough to brush Plink's whiskers. She flinched. Behind her, Tooley stilled his cutting.

"T'were Rippear built most o' me house. Worked his paws ta bloody bones on these sticks an' vines. An' when he'd had enough o' that, d'ye know what 'e did?"

Plink swallowed hard. "He… turned on you?"

"That be before I brought 'im up in the tree."

His breath was sour, a sharper, hotter version of the smell of his hut. Plink's snout twitched and her eyes watered, but she didn't dare turn away from the bird looming before her.

"When Rippear had enough o' buildin' this fine house, he threw himself down into the jungle below. Now maybe he was meanin' ta catch hold o' some vines or branches an' climb his way to freedom," the macaw paused, clearly savoring the story, "but that wasn't the way it worked out in the end fer old Rippear. He broke near every bone in his body in that fall, but he lived most o' the next day. Long enough fer me ta find 'im an' set 'im to his final purpose. Ha-harrk, he be much more helpful dead than he were alive."

The macaw lingered for a stifling moment, then he withdrew. Plink sagged but didn't relax. She had to keep talking, keep distracting their captor so he wouldn't hear Tooley sawing through the net, but it was hard to think surrounded by this smell in the dark.

"What're you gonna do with..." She cut off the whisper and cleared her throat. She didn't want to know. She didn't intend to stay long enough to find out. "So you- ye've been alone here ever since? Ain't ye been lonely?"

"Yer never alone in the jungle, missy. Ye never know what be there with ye, behind the bushes. Why, I've seen spiders bigger than you. Seen 'em haul in songbirds."

Plink shuddered. There was a second snap, quieter than the first, as Tooley severed another vine, but Maurick was engrossed in his own words and didn't seem to notice.

"Even once found the dried-up corpse of a savage bound in webs. An' those savages aren't triflin' fighters, either. Snake-hunters an' fanatics, they be. A wise bird flies high o'er their territory by light o' day." He paused, and there was a sound of a short piece of steel - a dagger perhaps - scraping against a wooden surface. "Harrk! But I be cleverer than a horde o' savages an' their devil god. I've got the better o' the lot of 'em. From the meat in their traps ta the treasures… treasures..." His voice dropped to a mutter. "All he has be mine, all mine - he just doesn't know it yet."

Plink heard the last of what he said, but her mind was elsewhere. "Matey… what d'ye mean… about the meat?"

The macaw didn't reply. Instead, there was a sharp scrape and a spark in the darkness that blossomed suddenly into a flower of hissing flame. For an instant, it was glaring and smoky, more blinding than illuminating, but the flames quickly caught on some sticks and took on the mellow glow of a normal fire.

And in the light loomed Maurick. His feathers were green as the jungle, except for a red spot on his crown that petered out over the black beak that jutted, massive as a headsman's axe, from the twisted grin of his flesh. His eye, yellow and hard as a brass button, was locked on Plink.

With his talon, he tossed aside a flint and took the steel object - a broken cutlass - from his beak. "Don't do to have spies roamin' about me forest, stirrin' up the natives an' givin' away the location of me hideout. Nay, don't do a'tall."

"We ain't spies," Plink said hurriedly. Tooley had stilled behind her, so she elbowed him in her struggle to sit up, positioning her body to hide his movements from sight. "-and we don't even know how we got here! It was dark and we were flying. If we left now, we'd be completely lost."

"Ye won't be leavin'."

The macaw used the cutlass to push a mass of twigs down the side of the pan - an overturned shield set on a pillar of hardened mud - and into the fire. Stronger light leapt up the walls. A hundred little fires flickered in reflection. Plink's mouth fell open as she stared.

The sticks and vines of the walls were covered floor to domed roof with gold. Bars, chalices, thick linked necklaces, and, most of all, coins - all pressed into the dried mud that had been daubed in the gaps. As the fire grew in intensity, so too did the golden glow.

"Little more than a hatchlin' an' ye already got that _hunger_ in yer eyes."

Plink finally blinked and looked back to Maurick. He snapped a large stick in two with his beak before pushing both ends into the fire, then sidled toward her. His grin was stiff and unchanging and Plink realized with a sick feeling that he wasn't grinning at all - it was just the natural shape of his face.

The macaw loomed over her and cocked his head to examine her with one eye. "Ye like it, don't ye? Treasure."

Plink flicked her eyes to briefly glance past him. "There's so much of it!"

"This? Hah hark! No more than a sample o' the trove. Aye, I found it," he said, ducking his head to eye her even more closely. He went on at a mutter. "Days upon days it took ta find the way inta that rock o' his. Nearly lost me mind in those tunnels, all the weight o' the earth pressin' down…"

He was so close, Plink could see his gray tongue - long as her forearm - bob behind his beak. Her entire head would easily fit inside his mouth.

"Ye like riddles, missy?"

The young rat didn't follow this sudden change of subject, but she nodded vigorously anyway. She could feel Tooley behind her, hardly daring to breathe. If Plink didn't distract the macaw now, he could spot the dirk. "I love riddles! Will ye tell me one?"

Maurick straightened and considered her for a tense moment. "Aye," he said at last. "One."

He turned back to feed the fire and Plink elbowed Tooley to make him start cutting again. Heat was beginning to build in the hut as the fire grew stronger, and the bright light it cast illuminated more now than just the gold. There was, in fact, tarnished silver worked into the walls as well, but what caught Plink's eye were the pale sticks. Most were coated in the same green film as the rest of the woven wood, but some were faintly pink instead. Different shapes and sizes, but all picked clean... She tore her eyes away, but her hackles rose against her jacket.

When Maurick looked back at her, Plink held perfectly still, smiling and waiting. If he noticed the way she gripped her tail between trembling paws, he did not show it.

"A pirate ain't a pirate  
without a chest o' gold  
but a daft swab gets skewered  
if she don't do as she's told!"

He went on, bobbing his head and pacing as he spoke. His waddle was almost stately, and the tips of his folded wings crossed behind him like a pensive captain's paws. He was clearly savoring the chance to perform for an audience, and Plink wondered if he told all his guests this riddle before killing them.

But it wasn't going to happen that way, not this time. Plink clenched her teeth behind her smile and listened close - to Maurick, and to Tooley cutting their way to escape.

"Walk the snake's spine  
clear up to 'is head  
an' step yer steps soft  
'lest ye wind up dead.  
The mossy lass looks  
far finer'n she kisses-  
but she'll lead ye on still  
if ye listen to 'er hisses.  
Yer path be windin'  
always to starboard-  
but port fifth an' nineteenth  
be the key to 'is hoard.  
Daggers all around ye,  
ye know ye've gone too far,  
but another thirty paces  
and there be a world o' stars.  
Climb down the mole's chimney  
an' ye'll find a flock o' birds,  
or wriggle through the wormhole  
t'where screams be th' only words."

Maurick paused and, for the first time, looked away from Plink. His eye flicked about the hut and the feathers on his neck ruffled.

"Or go straight fer th' king-  
climb up through th' stars...  
Ye can steal 'is crown  
if ye cut out 'is heart."

He hunched his head down and began muttering and nibbling at the gold stuck in the wall nearest him, pressing dents into the soft metal. Plink's mind was racing. None of the riddle made any sense, but she understood now what it was - it was a treasure map. It was a set of directions to the lost plunder of Captain Blade. The gold-lined hut glittered before her, undeniable proof.

Now _there_ was an adventure for a pair of real pirates: to find the Pirate King's treasure and steal it all away from this mad bird. All they had to do was escape and solve the riddle.

Plink heard Tooley sever another vine behind her. She cleared her throat and tried to stifle her excitement. "Will ye give me a hint, matey?"

Maurick went on admiring his treasures. "There be no point in beggin' fer hints to a riddle ye won't live ta solve."

Plink curled her claws around the vines. "Just a liddle hint? Why d'ye have ta walk on a snake t' get there?"

The macaw emitted a throaty, self-satisfied chuckle and abandoned the gold to watch Plink once more. "That be what's called a metaphor, missy. T' be sure, yer the pride o' yer species - wit sharp as a hammer. Har harrk! Would that I didn't have plans fer ye already! I'd let ye go t' walk on snakes t' yer heart's content."

"Well if ye ain't supposed ta walk on a snake, what do ye walk on?" she demanded, bristling.

"If I told ye that, it wouldn't be much of a riddle, would it? Harrk... but the fire be hot an' the time fer games has come to an end." Maurick began stalking across the hut towards them. The two parts of that enormous beak ground together and Plink laid her ears flat against the sound. She unthinkingly pressed back against Tooley's heavy warmth.

"Ye'll be goin' first, missy. It'll take some hours ta roast yer weasel friend, but a little morsel like yerself be done in no time a'tall."

"You ain't serious!" Plink remembered herself and straightened up. "Ye _can't_ eat me! I'm a pirate - same as you! Me da was Captain Scarcrab the Fearsome! Ye can't-"

Maurick cackled. "Scarcrab the _Fearsome_ , was 'e? Har har harrrk! That mangy searat be known by only one name, an it certainly weren't 'the Fearsome'." The macaw leered at her and his cruel eye matched his wicked grin. "His name was Scarcrab the _Looter_. An' if there was ever a backstabbin' bootlickin' coward, it were Scarcrab."

The little rat shook her head against the net and glared. "No. You're a _liar!_ You're a crazy old bird wh-!"

Maurick shot out a talon and grabbed Plink by the throat, hoisting her - and the net - up off the woven floor. She clawed at his leg but he didn't even seem to feel it, just holding her up near his eye - and his beak. "Nobeast calls old Maurick crazy," he growled, "an' lives."

Plink couldn't breathe. She was clawing desperately now and dark spots were pressing in at the edges of her vision. Panicking and unaware, she kicked Tooley's shoulder.

He dropped right through the hole in the net and tumbled to his belly on the floor.

Maurick looked at the weasel, then at the tear in the net, and hurled Plink aside. With a squawk, he rounded on Tooley.

Plink hardly felt the impact with the wall. Weak and gasping, she struggled out of the net. As she caught her breath, she watched Tooley wave the dirk at the advancing macaw. Maurick lowered his head and his neck feathers stood out in a spiky ruff. Tooley gulped.

Plink had to do something. She scrambled to her footpaws and, with all of her might, kicked over the fire pan. Shadows leapt crazily as most of the fire went out, but a few burning brands sailed into the dry nest at the back of the hut. It went up in a whoosh.

Plink turned just in time to dodge Maurick as he barreled across the hut to put out the scattered flames. Tooley, rather than running out the door, scrambled to retrieve the sack of coins Maurick had carelessly dropped on the floor when they arrived.

"What are you doin'? We gotta get outta here!" Even as she spoke, Plink yanked a golden necklace out of the mud of the wall and jammed it in her pocket. "Come on, Tooley!"

They dashed through the door, but the second they were out in the early morning light, a new problem became obvious. The ground was so very far below, completely hidden by the understory. Plink swallowed hard and thought of Rippear. "We gotta find a way to climb down."

"There's some vines!" Tooley pointed along the wide branch to the main trunk. "They... they don't look safe fer climbin' on, though."

Plink was already scurrying toward them. "Guess we'll find out!"

The vines were nasty, thorny things that pricked and snagged at their paws wherever they could get a grip. An infuriated shriek came lancing out from the hut. Plink and Tooley shared a look and began scrambling down.

It was already too late. From the corner of her eye, Plink spotted a blur of green and blue feathers as Maurick launched out of his smokey hut. He gave another rasping cry and wheeled toward them.

"Ye thievin' wretches! I'll carve ye both ta pieces!"

He latched onto the trunk below them and rapidly climbed to their level using beak and claws with surprising dexterity. Plink shouted and shoved Tooley, trying to get him to move to the side, but the weasel couldn't get pawholds fast enough.

When Plink looked back, Maurick was looming next to her. "But I think I'll be breakin' yer legs first."

He locked a talon around her knee and dove, ripping Plink from the vines. She screamed and flailed as she hung upside down over the dizzying drop.

There was a jarring impact, then Tooley was shouting as they descended in a wild spiral. "Let 'er go!"

Plink looked up in time to see the weasel gripping tight to the macaw's back as Maurick craned his neck and snapped at him. They ripped through leaves and barely swerved around trunks. They were going to crash. They were going to crash and Plink was going to hit the ground head-first with ten times her weight about to land on top of her.

She clawed her way up and sank her sharp teeth deep into the tough flesh of the macaw's leg. He squawked and his grip finally released. Plink slipped free.

She plummeted to the ground and hit the thick moss of a little hillside. Tumbling head over tail, she came to a stop face-down in a stream at the bottom of the hollow and barely managed to look up in time to watch as the macaw looped around overhead and landed hard a stone's throw down the stream. Tooley went rolling and sprawled on the rocky bank.

The macaw was already recovering. Water dripped off his green feathers, slicking his down into spikes. He looked reptilian, monstrous. Plink wanted nothing more than to run away, but fear froze her in place as Maurick cocked his head to watch her with one eye and Tooley with the other. The weasel sat up and tried to back into the bushes.

"I believe ye be fergettin' somethin'," Maurick said, then raised one of his talons out of the water to reveal the dripping object he held. Daggle's sack of coins.

Tooley hesitated, softly keening. Plink didn't know him that well, but she understood that sound. It cut her, sharp as the pieces of her ma's shell comb - the last of the nice things from a life Plink didn't even remember.

 _Keep away! Keep away! Ratty's got a toll to pay!_

"You dirty _bully!_ "

Before she could think twice, Plink snatched up a pawful of stones and started hurling them at the macaw. The first whizzed past his head. The second struck near his brassy eye. The third clacked off his beak the instant before he screamed in rage and charged.

"Tooley!" Plink shouted as she dove into the bushes. "Run!"

The instant she was out of sight, her confidence surged. Plink had run away from marshals in Hearth a hundred times. She knew how to backtrack and hide, how to weave a hard path for a big beast to follow. Maurick crashed through the foliage behind her, rasping about revenge, but Plink only smirked and ran on.

She led him up a steep hill and through a valley crowded with massive ferns. The fronds should have hidden her, but Maurick wouldn't be deterred. Again and again, Plink began to think she had lost him, and then the black curve of his beak would knife through the greenery, or that blazing red spot on his brow would flicker through the gaps, or the ferns would part on the wind from his wings and Plink was suddenly exposed.

She scrabbled up another hillside, breathless and completely disoriented. There was a stitch in her side and her footpaw was raw from where she'd kicked the scorching fire pan, but she didn't dare stop. She could hear him rasping close behind her.

"…little brat… mash yer skull like a grape!"

Ahead, Plink spotted a tangle of dead branches and thorn bushes. She threw herself to all fours to crawl into the tight space beneath. For a moment, she caught her breath.

Then Maurick began biting a path to her. Plink struggled to get away, but the denseness of her shelter now worked against her. She felt a white-hot pain at the tip of her tail and shrieked, then burst out the other side and raced pellmell through the forest, all strategy and confidence forgotten.

The chase went on for what felt like hours, and when Plink finally staggered free of the jungle and tumbled down the beach, the sun was blazing overhead. There were beasts walking the sand, and Plink thought at first it was her group. She was sure she saw Robert with his oar and she raced toward him with all the strength she had left.

"Help! I'm sorry, I'm sorry - please help me!"

But it wasn't Robert. It was a stoat with a suspicious glare on his face. The glare quickly morphed into alarm when an infuriated squawk announced Maurick had emerged onto the beach. Plink darted behind the group and watched between them as the macaw paced near the trees.

"Harrk," Maurick panted, "so the daughter o' Scarcrab hides behind bigger beasts, as well! Thievin' coward… burnin'…"

A ferret with a particularly cunning eye shot Plink an assessing look. The stoat had drawn a cutlass, but now he lowered it. "Ain't yew… Naw! It's Dirty Trick Maurick!"

The macaw screeched and flapped his wings, spraying the group with sand. "Ye scurvy dirt-lubber! I don't care if ye know me name - if ye don't give me that rat, I'll cut ye all ta ribbons an' feed ye t' the crabs!"

"Have 'er. She ain't nothin' ter us."

Plink watched the stoat shrug, and shuddered.

"Belay that." The ferret stepped forward at once, stiff and commanding. She stared the stoat down, then turned her glare on the macaw. "Last I heard, you were first mate on _Scumcutter_. What are you doing here, Mister Maurick?"

"The _Cutter_ be sunk - an' it be such a long flight home."

"I don't have a lot of patience for sarcasm." She rested a paw on the pommel of her cutlass. "Where's the rest of your crew?"

The macaw stood absolutely still, watching her with one eye. "About where ye'd expect… Captain Ancora."

Plink looked again at the ferret, wide-eyed. Chak had said his captain was clever - surely she could see the macaw was unhinged. For all Plink could tell, though, the captain was just irritated by Maurick's dodgy answers. "He ate 'em," she said in a rush. "He's crazy an' he'll eat me, too, if ye let 'im!"

"Ha harrk! Don't listen to a word outta that little liar's mouth. She's nothin' but a snivelin' thief - just like her sire before 'er."

Plink pointed a claw toward him and her voice cracked. " _You're_ the liar!"

The captain was watching her again. "You stole from this beast?"

"He… he was gonna eat me! He stole from us first!"

Captain Ancora narrowed her eyes and Plink relented at once, jamming her paw in her pocket. She hurled the necklace up the beach and it glittered fiercely before hitting the sand in Maurick's shadow. He wound the links around two claws and held the gold close to his belly.

Plink bristled. "I want that bag!"

Maurick chuckled and glared daggers at her. "If ye want yer sorry treasure back, ye'll have t' come an' take it, missy." He watched Plink for a long moment but, apart from the tremble of her fists at her sides, she didn't move. "I thought as much. When ye change yer mind, ye know where I be waitin'."

Captain Ancora took a step toward him and started asking another question, but the macaw took off in a spray of sand and quickly vanished over the looming jungle. Plink let out a final, relieved breath, and turned to introduce herself to the captain - only to find a beast she already knew waiting, smiling brightly at her.

"Scully!" Her face split into a grin. "Matey, am I glad ta see you!" She took an automatic step toward him and raised a paw as if to touch his shoulder - only to pull up short when Scully's expression abruptly turned cold.

"That's funny, Plink. You left me during the battle. I figured you couldn't care less."

Plink reeled, guilty and stung by the truth of his words. She had lost him, and now his uniform was as stained and ragged as her own clothes. There was no telling what he'd gone through on account of her leaving him in that boat.

But here he stood with pirates, while Plink had had to suffer a murderous otter, a beast-eating bird, and Robert's unbearable kindness. Here he was with a crew, while Plink had spent the last few hours fleeing for her life. Whatever Scully had been through, it was nothing next to that. He had it so easy, this _hare_ , what did he know?

Plink bared her teeth in a sneer. "Well looks like yer doin' just fine without me, ain't ya?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Then shut yer trap an' quit whinin' about it!"

They scowled at each other a moment longer, then both stiffly turned away. Plink stepped toward the captain, but her tail brushed the sand and she barely choked back a cry. It hurt now more than anything she'd felt before, a dizzying ache, and when she examined it, she understood why.

The last pawlength of her tail was gone, bitten clean off.


	43. Irredeemable

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Irredeemable**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

 _"_ _Oh Gates. His airway's filling with blood… He's going to suffocate. I… I'm sorry. I can't stop this."_

An image of Minstrel appeared as soon as she closed her eyes. His body twitching in Robert's arms. The spike piercing his neck. The blood seeping down his chin. Those fear-filled eyes…

Crue opened her eyes and took a deep breath. In the privacy of her lean-to she had hoped to rest, to process the death of Minstrel, and to decide what was to do next. Instead, her mind was again filled with memories of the dead. Wearily, she stood up and went to look for someone to talk with.

Robert was already engaged in conversation with Chak a short distance away, and she had no desire to interrupt them. Chak's only surviving slave, Scrufftail, was sitting at the base of the tree he'd appropriated, sharpening the tip of a short branch and muttering to himself. Having lost a dear friend, she wondered if he, too could use some company. After the storm of words he'd unleashed upon his former captor, it might be nice to spend time with a friendly face.

"I wanted to talk to you, Scrufftail," she spoke as she walked toward the other squirrel.

"Reedox!" he spat, his paws tightly clenched into fists and his eyes closed in frustration. "My name's Reedox! If I hear that slave name one more time, I'm going to..."

Crue raised her hands in a pacifying gesture. "Easy, now! I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't, but you do now." Reedox's tail twitched as he glared at her, his paws balled into fists. Eyes closed, he sighed deeply before stating, "Some beasts forgot their names thanks to that… that… But I didn't."

Crue's face softened, knowing she could only imagine the life that the squirrel before her had lived. Few ever escaped from a life under the whip, and most ended up dying long before they should have. Every slave-driver treated their slaves differently, but no matter how "gentle" the master was, their station was cruel by nature, and their lifestyle an abomination. She reached out to put a paw on Reedox's shoulder, but he flinched away.

"I don't need your pity, miss," he spat. Lowering his voice, he continue, "Only thing I would find a comfort is to see a dagger between that otter's ribs. Pity neither of you goodbeasts has the stomach to do it."

Crue looked over, seeing Chak speaking with Robert. She then turned her eyes to the two mounds where the most recent casualties had been laid to rest. "I've seen the madness in Chak's eyes. I don't plan on turning my back on him, but it's not my place to kill him. That's not who I am."

The former slave moved in closer, looking her straight in the eyes. His own eyes were hard and angry, the fur all over his body bristling. "I know your type, miss. You're a coward who hides behind your profession, behind your shiny instruments and your plucky bedside manner. You're so _respectable_ , so _important_ , so _pristine_ that no one can help but see a saint!" He kept his volume low, but his whispers felt louder than if he'd screamed at her.

"You only save lives because people love you for it. So what if someone dies? Ah well, you _tried your best_ and get paid all the same. You've never had to fight for your life! You've never had to spend every single day trying to survive, losing yourself in the vain hope that someday you might just get to go home, with part of you knowing that there's no home to go back to anyway.

"No, you're not going to be the one to get revenge. You'll judge the beast who does, though, same as you judge the rest of us."

Crue stood dumbfounded, her eyes searching his for any sign that he didn't mean what he was saying. How was it that he could cut her to the quick, having only known her for such a short time? All she had wanted to do was comfort her fellow squirrel, to deter him from building a life on revenge, to become a new beast and forge a better path for himself. "Nimbelton wouldn't want-"

"Don't try to tell me what he wanted!" He took a few deep breaths, the pain of loss evident on his face. "Just leave me alone."

Reedox left, climbing up into his tree. Crue looked over toward where Robert and Chak were still talking. Robert spared a moment to look in her direction and offer her a small smile. Feeling the need to spend some time alone, she waited until the two finished talking before she approached the hedgehog.

"I'm going for a walk. I won't be gone long."

"Jus' be careful. Can't be losin' ye, too."

"I'll keep my eyes open."

After taking a quick drink from the stream, she set off. The silence around her was only broken by the gentle chirping of songbirds and bugs. Part of her mind ran over the accusations that had just been leveled against her as she headed northwest, while the rest made sure she didn't go in the direction of the traps.

 _Why do I do what I do?_ she found herself asking. _Do I really hide behind my profession? Do I really value my possessions more than people?_ She scoffed quietly… and then really thought about it.

 _"_ _That ruddy cabin boy constantly 'borrowing' my needles and thread…"_

 _"_ _At least I have some willow bark left. Surprised Ren Spindelfur didn't make a grab for it last week."_

 _"_ _I do not intend to spend the trip tending to the cuts and scrapes of careless beasts."_

The memories ran through her head, memories of solitude and mistrust, of times when her words were less than kind. During her time on the _Sunlit_ it was all she could think of to get away from her crewmates. Then there was the _Zephyr_ , with its noble captain and fine crew. On that ship she could be as selfish as she wanted… because she was a healer.

About the time she was starting to believe Reedox's words, the image of a hare jumped to the forefront of her thoughts. The simple act of suggesting an extra helping of food causing her patient to really look at her and see her as more than just a healer. Another hare, struggling to rise after being thrown against the mast, a look of gratitude in his eyes as she assisted him to his feet. The encouraging song of a weasel whose friend had been helped when help was needed. The kind smiles of the hedgehog, who always managed to instill her with a measure of hope.

She may have had difficulty being a friend to them, but at least she could be a good healer. She did care for these beasts. She enjoyed being helpful. She enjoyed making them feel better. She _was_ a healer, and despite what Reedox spit toward her, it was no weakness to value the lives of every beast, no matter how distasteful. She may not have given every beast the kindness they deserved, but that was something she could work on.

Having resolved that matter, she moved on to think about the problems they were facing. She wished Tooley and Plink had not run off on their own, likely getting into all sorts of trouble if they weren't dead already. What had made them leave silently in the night? She worried that Tooley could be hopelessly lost if he was alone. If Plink was with him, she'd probably taken half his shirt by that point… They could also be dead, with no one out looking for them.

She pushed past several ferns as she considered that Chak was another problem that needed solving. For now, he remained one of the biggest threats to their survival. The otter had some regard for the lives of those who mattered to him, as evidenced by his mourning for Minstrel, but Crue could not be sure how he would treat any other beast.

 _If a limb can't be cured, it is cut off to protect the rest of the body. His mind has been poisoned, and there's no way to know if he can be cured,_ Crue thought. _Poisoned…_ She wondered if she could find something on the island that would… take Chak out of the picture. Her eyes scanned the nearby landscape.

"No!" she whispered to herself aloud. "That's not what we do!" She shook her head violently, casting the notion from her head. _Killing Chak? That's horrible!_

She mentally chastised herself for thinking such thoughts for a while longer as she stepped lightly through the grass. Once she was through being shocked by the unwelcome thoughts, she made a decision not to permit any further thinking of murder to enter her mind. She could no more kill another beast than she could sprout wings and fly home.

Time passed and as she was wondering if Chak's grief was brought on by the loss of a friend or the loss of a valued piece of property, she looked up and saw a fascinating tree. It was a couple of feet taller than her, with leaves vaguely similar to holly and red berries growing from its branches.

"Cherries?" she wondered, judging from the color. "No, grapes?" She stepped closer and picked one off of the tree. "Fascinating!"

Unable to restrain herself, she put it in her mouth and bit down. At first she was surprised to quickly discover the rather large pit that lay in the center, but she was able to strip the soft flesh from the pit and found the fruit to be quite enjoyable. It tasted more like a watermelon, but with an added flowery flavor she couldn't quite put her claw on. "Rose? Jasmine? Hmm…"

She pulled off a few more and savored the flavor before spitting out the pits. Knowing that more food was always welcome, she set about pulling more of the fruit off and stuffing her pockets as much as she could. A few minutes later, she set off, a sudden burst of energy putting a spring in her step. For the time being it seemed like the tiredness she'd felt since arriving on the island was pushed to the side and she could see the jungle - she suddenly remembered the word for this strange forest from one of her books - with a bit more clarity than before.

Eventually, she made the connection between the cherries and her new-found energy. Her eyes lit up at the thought of discovering this new fruit. _Finally!_ she thought, _a positive note in this forsaken place!_

She was in the process of taking a drink from a small brook when she heard a strange whistling sound grow louder as it came closer. A moment later, the sound ended with a fair amount of rustling through the undergrowth that ended not far from her. She looked up toward the source of the noise, lifting her head high and sniffing the air. A pair of long, gray ears were visible some distance away, belonging to a head that she realized possessed a friendly face.

"Scully!" she shouted before she could stop herself. She could only hope no savages were within earshot. A grin formed on her face as she did a visual inspection of her crewmate. "Scully, you're alive! I didn't expect to see you alive! I mean... are you okay? Do you need something to eat?"

Scully's ears went up a bit straighter, and then drooped again. Crue couldn't tell what his expression meant, but his eyes lingered on the ground more than they should have considering the happy occasion. She decided to add to the good news in hopes it would cheer him up. "Mister Rosequill survived as well, and so did Plink! She was asking about you, actually. We've made camp not far from here with a few other... survivors, and I'll show you where it's at. It's not much, but at least you'll have friends and food and shelter." She paused, but was met only with silence. "Are you sure you're okay?"

With Scully still not responding, Crue decided to follow his eyes down to the ground. Next to her right footpaw was a straight piece of wood, strangely out of place in the jungle. She reached down to pick it up when the cabin boy's slightly desperate voice made her pause.

"Stop! Don't… touch it."

Crue looked at it a second longer before she judged it safe to handle. She started to pull it from the ground and asked, "What is this?"

Once more, Scully held his paws out in a warning gesture and cried out, "No, don't touch it!"

"Why shouldn't I touch this?" Her brow furled in consternation at his strange behavior, she continued to lift it from the ground. What was so dangerous about a piece of w… _An arrow._ She looked at the tip of the arrow and was about to brush some of the dirt off of the metal head when she noticed that at least half of it was discolored. It shouldn't be that color.

She looked up and saw a bow poorly hidden behind Scully's back. Her mind began putting details and memories together. Wanting to get the obvious question out of the way, she took a step closer to the young hare and asked in a low voice, "Did you shoot this?"

Scully refused to look her in the eye and stuttered out some sort of response that she couldn't make out. She took another step closer, her anger growing in the wake of his near confession. Pointing at the arrowhead, she asked slowly and deliberately, "What is this on the tip?"

Something changed in the leveret's eyes. She didn't have the first idea what it was, but suddenly his eyes were no longer nervous and confused. His voice resolute, he replied, "Dipping sauce."

Before she could ask another question, the hare turned and bolted off back in the direction in which he'd come. He was much too fast, and Crue knew she'd never be able to stop him, so she decided to return to camp and inform Robert of what she'd just witnessed.

Turning back to reverse her course, Crue first wondered how Scully had managed to procure an arrow on this island, and her eyes were drawn to the sharp tip. Half of the head was discolored, and not from its trip through the brush. She lifted it carefully toward her nose and caught a distinctive smell that was mousey, but not entirely. Had she not been so careful in her studies, she may never have known that the arrow she held had been treated with hemlock… _her_ hemlock!

 _"_ _It's probably at the bottom of the sea,"_ she recalled Plink saying, a casual shrug lifting the ratmaid's shoulders.

Gears moved within the squirrel's mind as memories suddenly fit snugly into place. Plink hadn't been hesitant to give up the hemlock because she didn't have it. She never did. The quiet, mild-mannered cabin boy was the one with the sticky paws, the one who had caused her to wonder who might be killed because of Crue's moment of carelessness. It was Scully's actions that very well might have led to Plink's death!

In the midst of her silent tirade, she suddenly noticed that the sounds of the jungle had grown quiet, the songbirds holding their breath in the presence of a stranger. She bent down behind the nearest bush, straining her ears to find out where this stranger was.

Her burst of energy caused her heart to race, her blood pounding in her ears in such a way she wondered if the beast out there could hear it. She did her best to remain calm, but with the added energy those cherries had given her, every muscle was wound taught, her whole being ready to run. Her breathing came faster than she'd like, sounding like a howling gale in her ears in the silence of the jungle.

After a minute or two - an hour by her recollection - she heard faint footfalls very nearby. The beast was good at remaining quiet, and Crue realized that it must be very close indeed for her to pick up on the soft scrape of its paws against the soft grass. She could almost smell it: unfamiliar, but… predatory.

The sound of footfalls ceased. The scent of the predator grew stronger, probably preparing to attack. It was close. Flattening her ears as much as she could, she raised her head over the bush just far enough to see a pair of dark brown eyes staring right back at her.

She froze, unable to do more than stare at the beast before her. It fixed her with an unblinking stare as it stepped slowly around the bush. Crue was mesmerized by the strange pupils in its eyes, set against a face that seemed to be somewhat weasel-like, only with slightly smaller ears. Short tan fur covered its face and the rest of its brindled coat, and its long slender tail swayed gently as it moved. A loincloth was the only form of real clothing it wore, but its wrists were adorned with bracers of some sort of leather… a scaly skin that glinted in the light. Around its neck was a necklace holding what looked like a small skull framed by several large, thin fangs.

The beast advanced slowly, like a predator heads to an easy meal. Its lips parted into a vicious smile, revealing a set of healthy, sharp fangs. Crue took a step back, wondering if she could outrun the beast, but doubting she would get far before the long black claws protruding from its paws reached her.

"Holuh steel," he instructed, his voice coming out in a low growl as he advanced, now only a few feet away. "Det hide make good keeft tik mi munga. Mush favah!"

Crue gulped and her hands began to tremble as she thought she made out the words "hide" and "good gift." She gripped the shaft in her hand tighter to try and stop her right paw from shaking so much. With a quavering voice she begged, "Please don't kill me!"

"Di rett beastah - she die quicklick eef she ni movah..." He began to pull a long curved knife from the sheath at his waist. His eyes moved from the tops of her ears to the tips of her footpaws and back up, and she watched as a dribble of spit fell from his mouth.

When it was only a few steps away, Crue's instinct to run finally won out over the fear that froze her. She spun to the left and started to scramble off, but before she could take more than a couple of steps, she was pulled up short. The beast had a handful of her tail fur clutched in one clawed paw and yanked her back toward him. Crue struggled to maintain her balance as she twisted around on her left footpaw, casting her arms out in front of her.

She spun back toward her assailant, noting the gleam of violence in his eye. She was brought inches from his face when she noticed a sudden change in his demeanor. His malevolent expression changed to one of surprise as he looked down. Crue looked down as well, only to see the arrow in her hand sunk several inches into the beast's chest. He quickly went from surprised to enraged and reached a paw back to strike, long black claws poised to rip her to shreds.

Without thinking, she pushed with both paws, driving the shaft of the arrow further into the beast's chest. His rage cooled and his arm lowered as his lungs filled up with blood. One of his paws went toward his chest, but he coughed once in her face before he fell onto his back and lay in the grass. He gagged on the blood filling his mouth for a time before he went still and Crue witnessed the life leave his eyes.

She couldn't move. The ordeal had happened so quickly that her mind didn't have time to catch up. She stared at the face of the beast, the tongue lolling out to the side between its fangs. The limbs were still and the chest refused to rise. The gaping hole was still seeping. She looked down. The arrow was still clenched tightly in her paws, beads of lifeless blood traveling from her claws down the shaft and falling to the ground.

 _I did this!_ her mind whispered. Her eyes flickered from the arrow to the body, back to the arrow, and back to the body, connecting the two objects. _I killed it._

"I killed it," she whispered, her throat dry and her voice shaky. She began to shake her head, the tufts of fur by her ears twitching madly above her. "No, I don't do that. No, no, no."

Before the healer could let her mind pursue this further, her feet began to move. Her claws dug into the soft ground, moving her faster and faster until she was running as she'd never run before. She needed to get back to the camp, back to Robert and the others. She needed help. She didn't want to be alone. Eventually she remembered that everyone else was in danger, too, and she needed to warn them. Who knew how many more of them were out there? Did they know about her and the other survivors? Could they survive an attack if the monsters came in force? How many more would die? The thought of losing Robert and the others gave her a small boost to her speed.

She crashed through the trees, rushing out into the camp and very nearly falling on her face. Chak spun in her direction first, club at the ready, with Robert following suit a second later. Crue headed toward the hedgehog, wanting to blurt out everything that had transpired, but her voice wasn't working as it should. Robert slowly reached toward her right paw and took note of the blood that stained her claws.

"What 'n blazes 'appened, Crue?" Robert asked, his voice soft and gentle like a warm blanket. "Are ye hurt?"

She shook her head before she walked over to the stream and began to wash off the blood. Then she reached down and grabbed one of the shells Reedox had collected and used it to wet her throat. After a few healthy gulps, her voice returned enough for her to begin to explain.

"There was a beast in the woods I've never seen before! It attacked me and before I knew it…" She looked down at her paws and clutched them to her chest before she whispered, "I… killed him."

"Were it jus' the one?" Chak asked, taking a couple of steps closer. "Was it armed? 'Ow large was 'e?"

Crue looked up at the otter. His expression was intense and focused. She was distracted by the feeling that her paws were still sticky, even after having washed them. "There was just one… big, maybe. About your height. Strangest eyes I've ever seen."

"Was 'e armed?" Chak asked more insistently.

Crue answered, "Yes."

At the same time Robert turned to him and said, "Calm yer whiskers, friend. Give 'er a minute t' collect 'erself."

"If thar be an enemy force out thar, she don' 'ave time ter collect 'erself. If they be knowin' we be 'ere, we need ter get ter some place more defendable."

"I don't know if there are more, but I think it's safe to assume they're out there." She cast her gaze toward Chak and looked him in the eyes. Her eyes wide with panic, she told him, "He was going to skin me… He was going to _eat me!_ "

Robert closed his eyes and shook his head, his mouth curved in disgust.

Chak's gaze hardened. "If yer worried bout killin' that beast, squirrel, I suggest ye stop. 'E were goin' ta kill ye an' it sounds like ye did the rest o' us a favor."

Crue blanched at the thought of her act doing anyone a favor. "But I took a life! That's not what I do! I… help. I make beasts whole…" Her breathing increased as panic began to set in. Having warned the others, she was now free to break down. "I… I…" She looked down and could almost feel the blood on her paws once more. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Robert shook her shoulder gently. "Crue? Crue Sarish, calm yerself! You're safe!"

Chak was not as gentle. Before the hedgehog could stop him, he reached forward and cuffed Crue upside the back of her head. "Snap outta it! We b'ain't got time fer yer lily-livered babblin' if thar be more savages about."

Crue's was shocked out of her state of panic, instantly replacing it with the anger she now felt toward being struck. She glared up at the otter and bared her teeth angrily. "How dare-"

Drowning out her protest, he loudly stated, "Better ye be angry wi' me than whinin' like a whipped pup! Ye cain use anger, lass, ye cain e'en use rage." He bent toward her until his face was scant inches from hers. "But whate'er t'were ye were feelin' thar, ye cain't use that." Her expression softened a bit as she took in what he was saying. She continued to follow his eyes as he stood up, back straight and expression approving. "Ye saved yerself when ye killed that creature. If ye cain't do it again, ye'll not be survivin' long."

Robert stood up, his voice now filled with anger. "Kill again? Ye want 'er t' go 'bout the island 'n pick off e'rythin' that looks like it needs killin'?"

"If it plans ta kill ye, ye kill it firs'. Simple as that. It be time ta survive, an' yer not gonna do that by tryin' ta reason er make frien's wi' an enemy what be tryin' ta eat ye. Ye 'ave ter decide whuther ye wan' ter live er die." He looked toward Robert. "She b'ain't needin' coddled. She be needin' a tougher 'ide."

Crue took a deep breath before she stood up to her full height. Chak still had a head and a half on her, but she did her best to stand as straight as he. "I'm not a killer, Chak Ku'rill… but I don't want to die, either. I'll do my best to hold it together."

"An' if a beast be aimin' 'is claws at ye again?"

Her eyes traveled over Chak, then Robert, then Reedox's tree, and finally to the two graves. "Can't keep you alive if I'm dead. I'll do what needs to be done."


	44. The Law of the Jungle

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **The Law of the Jungle**

 _by: Robert_

* * *

Robert was at the head of the small group, leading them through the dense jungle. It was a hot and sticky and all around unpleasant place for anybeast to experience. The hedgehog found himself grunting and wheezing constantly, finding the simple act of breathing to be taxing. The thick humidity weighed on Robert's fur, making each step and small motion an ordeal. It was nothing like the forests of Mossflower, where a beast could hike through the trees, simply to enjoy the smells and feel the sweet breeze rustling the leaves. The jungle had none of that. Only stink and terror was allowed here. A beast would only walk in the jungle because they absolutely had to, but today Robert had to be one such beast.

 _The faster we find them poor souls, the faster we can get out o' this bloody mess of a place. To safety._

The group had combed the beach twice over searching for Plink and Tooley, but neither could be found. And after Nimbleton's horrible death, the beasts were more than a little wary of traipsing through the jungle, but Robert had managed to convince them, and himself.

 _Nimbleton's dead. I couldn't save him. Didn't get the chance. He's just dead. And now Plink an' Tooley be dead, an' then it'll be Crue an' then Reedox an' then Chak an' then. . ._

Robert stopped in his tracks. The beasts behind him were startled by this and stopped as well, staring intently at the hedgehog as he stood silently before them, noticing a look of unease pass between them.

 _No. Ain't no use in thinkin' that way, it'll only kill a beast for sure._ With a grunt, Robert continued forward, head held high. _If'n we're gonna survive, we've got to have a fightin' spirit. A spirit that cain't get tired._

Robert grinned widely, eager to break the uncomfortable silence. "It's pretty colorful out here, eh?"

After a brief pause, there were mutters of agreement behind Robert. Aside from Chak, though, who was quick with a retort.

"Arr, thar'll be more reds 'n greens in a bit if them native beasts be findin' us," the otter growled. "We shouldn' e'en be out 'ere."

Robert scowled. "I know, an' you're right, but they weren' on the beach. I don' wan' to be out here either, but this's where Tooley 'n Plink are most likely. The way out is jus' ten minutes back, an' they ain't o' gone far I'd bet."

Chak growled again. "Anywhar in 'ere be too far."

Reedox snickered before the hedgehog could reply.

"I think you're scared, Chak." Reedox jeered. "Scared a junglebeast'll get you?"

Chak snorted with derision. "Yarrr - tha's right, Scruff. So why don' ye be a brave beast an' go scout on ahead fer a bit. Mayhaps ye'll get lucky an' spring another trap!"

Rather than take the bait, however, Reedox grew solemn as they both thought of Nimbleton.

"T'least wi' a beast ye cain fight back. An if this 'ere squirrely cain take one down, me thinks the rest o' us be 'avin' a fightin' chance."

Crue winced at the mention of herself. Robert hastily attempted to change the subject.

"Don' you worry 'bout nothin' out here now," the hedgehog said, letting out a hearty laugh. "Me an' Violet here won' let nothin' happen to nobody, heh heh heh!" He punctuated this by swishing his large oar into the underbrush in front of himself, prodding for any potential threats.

Crue, a puzzled look on her face, managed to crack a smile. "You . . . named the oar after your wife?"

Robert chuckled once more, patting the oar. "O' course! Violet's always the one in charge o' the discipline back home, you see."

Crue chortled. "Really? From the way you talk about your daughter, I wouldn't think she'd need much in the way of discipline."

"Aye, Bel's a saint! It's _me_ that Violet be keepin' in check, heh heh heh! An' there ain't nothin' in this world that be more frightenin' than a frown on her face!" Turning back to see the brighter look on the squirrelmaid's face, Robert smiled and continued.

"I can still remember the last time it happened. Me an' me good mate Harold was havin' a grand ol' time drinkin' an' singin' at Ol' Lucky Leg's tavern. O', Ol' Lucky Leg was a shrew with even more years at sea than me, you see. Always had a tale to tell, regardless o' if'n you wanted to listen to it, heh heh heh.

"Anyhow, it was much too late to be drinkin', an' we weren' s'posed to be out anyhow, so we were on our way home. I don' know how it went for Harold at his place, but when I get home, the door was locked. I couldn' knock 'cause I knew there ain't no way Violet be lettin' me in. I know she be lockin' the door on me to teach a lesson, she'd been doin' this on occasion. So, I left the window unlocked 'fore I left jus' in case o' this. So, I mosey on over to the window, an' just as I'm about to lift it up an' sneak in all secret like, what do I see?"

Robert paused, peeking back at the beasts following, all listening intently. The hedgehog winked. "I see Violet, standin' there, wit' paws on her hips and a frown on her face. I knew it was all over then! I had to sleep on the porch that night, an' got not a single dessert for two weeks, heh heh heh!"

Crue chuckled again, and a smile crept into Reedox's face. Chak guffawed.

"Har har! No dessert? That be yer punishment?"

Robert's face fell a bit, unease feeling its way into the hedeghog's chest. "Eh, yeah. She makes the best pies, you see. I couldn' live without 'em, heh. . ." Chak guffawed again, cutting him off.

"Two weeks wi' out pie. Poor soul. What sufferin' ye've 'ad ta endure in yer lifetime! Why, I bet ye 'ad ta've lost at least an inch offa that paunch o' yers…"

Robert growled and spun around. "Now you listen here. . ."

Before anything could happen, however, Reedox put his paw out and hissed, "No wait. . . listen out there. . ."

Silence fell upon the group, each listening intently, but Robert could only hear the wind in the trees.

"I can hear something too," Crue whispered, ears twitching as she frantically scanned the underbrush.

"Ye think it be them creature?" Chak asked.

Reedox, paw to his ear, shrugged. "I've no idea. I just heard pawsteps, I thought."

Robert shuffled over excitedly. "You think it's Plink an'. . ."

Fear rushed into the squirrel's eyes. "No. Whatever it is, it's more than just two beasts."

Robert's heart began pounding in his chest. He could hear the rustling now too. "We need to start leavin', goin' back to the beach. . ."

Reedox shook his head. "No time."

"We shouldn'a been out 'ere in the firs' place!" Chak hissed, almost shouting rather than whispering.

"I know, I know!" Robert hissed back. The hedgehog noticed Crue frozen in place.

"Crue," Robert whispered. "Crue, you be ok there?"

"I'm fine. I'll. . ." Crue fished around in her apron until she pulled out her knife. "I'll do what I must. . ."

"Now don' get too crazy, you ain't as used to this as we are," Robert said, hoping he sounded less uneasy than he was feeling. "You can jus' stand behind me an' hide. . ."

"We need all the help we can get," Chak imposed. "So ye might wan' ter make yeself useful an' watch for us back there."

"You don' have. . ." Robert began, but Crue shook her head.

"Chak's right. I'll help as best as I can."

"Well jus' make sure you're good an' safe behind me all the same," Robert said. "You're the mos' importan' one here. We'll be needin' you to stitch us up after this." With that, a new look of determination lit up in Crue's eyes.

Robert gripped his oar tightly and waited. But not for long.

Four of the strangest creatures leapt from the brush. They looked like weasels, just not like any weasel Robert had ever seen. Each one was barely dressed, only wearing the bare minimum scaly clothes, and each was different. The only thing they all shared was a snarling grin. Three were crouched on the ground, all carrying a wicked knife in their paws. The largest was by far the most frightening, particularly for the spear it was carrying. After a few agonizing seconds however, one thing became clear to Robert.

"They're waitin' for us," he whispered.

"Wha' n' the 'Gates fer?!" Chak hissed.

"No clue," whispered Robert. "Maybe they're sizin' us up? I'd sugges' we jus' wait. . ."

Suddenly the smallest of the creatures leaped at the hedgehog, knife going for his throat. Robert instinctively swung the oar, crashing it into the beast's skull and knocking him to the side. Right behind the scrawny one however was the hefty spear-wielder, who lunged with it at the hedgehog. Backpedaling, Robert knocked it away the small end of the oar. Quickly he snatched the pole, pushing it aside as his assailant struggled to regain control. The beast swiped for Robert's face, slashing his nose with filthy claws. Robert punched him.

"Auugh!" The creature screamed, gargling from a newly broken nose. Robert punched him again, then cracked the beast's head with the oar. The creature crumpled to the ground, and the hedgehog reached to pick up the spear when a shrill cry from Crue made him whirl around, just in time to see the squirrelmaid tackle the first beast Robert had fought. The two were sprawled out on the ground, both scrambling for their weapons.

Robert raced for them, swinging his oar overhead. Before the creature managed to snatch its knife, Robert jabbed the beast's stomach, knocking the breath from its lungs. Robert then snatched the beast's knife and buried it deep into its heart.

Reedox had managed to arm himself with a sizeable tree branch, swinging it at his assailant, squaring off and waiting for the beast to make the first move. Chak was wrestling with the last of them, the flash of the creature's blade glinting dangerously in between the two, threatening to end the battle at any moment.

"Crue, grab that spear an' help 'Dox!" Robert shouted, and Crue obliged, racing to grab it. Robert made for Chak, brandishing his oar.

 _You could let him die._

Robert faltered in his steps.

 _Ain't nobeast'd care. Not Crue. Least of all Reedox. It'd be one less beast to worry 'bout._

The beast had Chak by the throat now, choking him while the otter struggled to fend off the knife. Robert gritted his teeth.

 _I ain't no murderer!_ Robert leaped, his oar high overhead, and brought it crashing down upon the creature's skull. Dazed, the beast loosened his grip, prompting Chak to roll away, gasping for breath. Robert readied for another blow, but the beast swiped with the knife, slicing through the hedgehog's uniform and cutting into his chest.

Robert shouted in pain, staggering backwards. The creature shouted too, something incomprehensible and terrifying as he lunged for the hedgehog, when Chak abruptly knocked the beast back into the dirt. The otter wrested the prone beast's knife from its grasp and swiftly slit its throat.

"Ye didn' 'ave ter do that," said Chak, breathing heavily.

"Aye," said Robert, "an' that's jus' why I did. Friend."

Another scream came from behind Robert. Robert turned to see it was the last of the creatures, a spear impaled in its chest. Reedox was over the body, shaking. Crue began frantically racing towards him.

"Robert, you're hurt!"

"Aye, Miss Crue, I be. Told you we'd be needin' you, heh heh AUGH!" Robert clutched his chest, now stained with an unpleasant amount of blood.

"Lay down, I need to look at it now," Crue demanded, lips pursed with concern.

Robert nodded, slumping to the ground. Crue cut open his uniform with her knife to check the gash.

"Believe it or not, it isn't too deep," the squirrelmaid said, relief in her voice. "I can only bandage it for now to try and stop the bleeding."

"Do what you need to, miss, I don' think there should be others nearby," Robert said. Chak flashed him a glare. "Eh, but I'd say a bit quickly'd be nice, heh."

"Speaking of which," Reedox muttered, reaching for Robert's oar.

"There ain't no way!" Robert shouted, unable to contain his anger when Reedox shushed him with a raised paw.

"Just a moment, I think. . ."

Robert could hear the rustling again, faster this time, more obvious. He tensed up, and saw Crue do the same, gripping her knife more tightly, preparing for whatever it was coming out of the brush. Crashing and shouting something did come, and out of the brush the figure tumbled. Robert's eyes widened in shock.

"Tooley?"

The weasel glanced up, focusing on someone behind Robert. "M-Miss Crue!" he gasped, sucking in a lungful of air before continuing, "Thank th' stars an' luck an'-" He stopped, blinking at the scattered, bloodied corpses, then his gaze shifted up to Chak. Tooley's entire composure darkened in an instant, fur standing on-end as his body tensed.

"Why, we be jus' fine now we got you!" Robert beamed.

"Is Plink with you?" Crue asked eagerly, taking a step towards the weasel.

Reedox interrupted, however. "We won't be fine for long."

"Why's that, 'Dox?"

"I still hear something coming," Reedox replied. " _Lots_ more somethings."

Chak growled. "Tooley ye blitherin' idiot, yer crashin' about lead them junglebeasts right to us!"

Sure enough, creatures of all sizes surounded the group with more weapons than a beast could count. Robert reached for his oar, but let his paw drop.

"Ain't no way to fight this, friends," Robert muttered, raising his paws above his head. "Let's jus' hope to th' fates they be friendly this time."


	45. The King and His Men

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **The King and His Men**

 _By: Ciera_

* * *

The rat, Plink or Plunk or something of that ilk, clutched her stricken tail like one might a dying pet. The fur at the tip of the appendage was stained a brownish red. The wound looked rather painful, especially with all of that harsh sand that'd just been rubbed into it.

"I shouldn't worry about it, it's only a tail," said Ciera, who held that empathy was the emotional equivalent of voluntarily raising another beast's bratty young. "If you've got to have something hacked off, tail's the best thing to lose. Not nearly as useful as a paw or a leg, and far less valuable than a head." Ciera cast a look over at Vera, then added, "Most heads, anyway."

Possibly-Plunk looked up at her in pained astonishment.

"If you bandage it properly it should heal up quite well."

The rat nodded dumbly. "...ought ta wash it, first..."

A few seconds passed.

"I should do that _now_ , if I were you," Ciera goaded.

Plink-Perhaps scuttled down to the shoreline, her gait hampered slightly by the fact that she was still holding her tail. She dipped the bloody nub into the surf, wincing as the salt made its presence known. As Ciera approached, the rat maid numbly tore off a strip of her oversized shirt and began winding it round the shorn tail.

"So tell me, 'daughter of Scarcrab,'" Ciera began, "how did you come to be here? You're not a part of my crew, and you're certainly not from the _Scumcutter_..."

"I was aboard the _Zephyr._ "

The name didn't ring any bells, not as a ship of Blade's empire. Couple that with the rat's brief altercation with shipmate Craws, and that meant… "You were with Atlas."

The ratmaid sensed the sudden chill in the mood as Murdin looked her way. She dropped her bandaged tail and straightened up. "I ain't with that crazy stripedog or his Waverunner scum! I stowed away on the _Zephyr_ cuz I knew it'd take me ta pirates."

Ciera glanced at Craws, who briefly emerged from the depths of a good sulk to noncommittally shrug an indication that this story was probably true. That done, he stomped moodily off into the underbrush.

"So, Miss…"

"Plink."

"So, Miss Plink. You're a stowaway, a coward, and a raging idiot to boot. The apple certainly does not fall far from the tree, does it?"

"I- I-!" protested Plink, doing a very bad job of disproving Ciera's point.

"Tailing Atlas Stormstripe in order to find pirates is like latching onto an adder's back to find newts."

"But it _worked,_ " Plink mumbled testily.

Ciera started to explain that stupid methodologies weren't cancelled out by dumb luck, but one look at the rat's reproachful countenance suggested that it wouldn't help.

"Was anybeast else washed ashore with you?"

"Aye. There were seven of us - me an' this weasel Tooley, two Waverunners, an' Chak the Cruel an' his slaves. Well, an' Daggle... but Chak killed him."

Ciera mentally put a pin in the last sentence, for further musing. The more pressing concern was the rat's mention of other crew from the _Zephyr._ Crew who might be thrilled to see Plink and Scully returned safely, perhaps even grateful enough to be willing to grant her and the _Maiden_ 's remnants safe passage back to the mainland.

This information was both a blessing and a curse. The renewed opportunity for escape came with the corollary that time was now a very critical factor. Tooley was with the _Zephyr'_ s crew, and apparently still alive. Knowing that oaf, it wouldn't be long before he somehow managed to ruin everything.

 _Well, at least Mister Ku'rill survived. With any luck he can rein in Tooley for a while, until we've finished with this fire god nonsense. Assuming he's still sane, that is._

"Whereabouts are your crewmates?"

Plink looked uneasily back at the jungle. "I ain't sure. I got lost after me an' Tooley split up."

Ciera grimaced. _No point in wasting our time seeking them out, then. We're better off getting this business sorted out and coming back for them afterwards._

"Sounds suspicious t'me," Murdin cut in.

"How so, Mister Murdin?"

"There's two of 'em," Murdin said, pointing. "They're both Waverunners."

"I ain't-!" Plink protested, but Murdin cut her off. "I don't buy this act, them comin' over here and actin' like pirates. Scully got wet feet when it came time to kill one of his old messmates. Warned 'er about the hemlock on the arrows and everything. That's twice now he's gone soft, countin' the other hare."

"And what would you recommend we do?"

"I reckon we just kill 'em and be done with it," Murdin said darkly. "We can find Chak an' Tooley an' some of the others, get ourselves good an' armed in case the woodlanders try anythin'…"

Panic filled Plink's eyes. Ciera ignored her. "And then what, Mister Murdin?"

Murdin's brow furrowed. "What?"

"And then what happens next? We successfully get our motley crew back together, get all nicely armed up, slaughter the woodlanders. And then what?"

"An' then we're good."

"Are we? Seems to me we'd be stuck on this island with no supplies, no ship, and no lifeboat, _thank you very much, Vera_ , directly positioned in the crossfire between warring factions."

"Er, well…"

"Plus a rampaging Badger Lord, a cannibal macaw, and goodness knows what else. Even if we somehow managed to slaughter _everyone_ with the five-pirate crew you're proposing here, we'd still be stuck here on this island. And then what? We'll grow steadily weaker while we wait to be slaughtered by whichever crew of vermin-hating Waverunners or greedy treasure hunters lands first. I wouldn't call that 'good,' Mister Murdin."

The stoat seized Plink by the collar of her dirty, over-large shirt. "You're the one who's allus saying we oughta do the smart thing, Cap'n. I reckon we just kill 'em an' be done with it. Get back to our old crew, how it use to be."

Plink let out a strangled squeak and tried to tear herself free, earning herself a hefty smack from Murdin. Ciera's eye twinged at the sound, but she kept her tone measured. "'How it _use_ to be' is what got us here in the first place, Mister Murdin. If you kill shipmate Craws, you might as well slit all of our throats in the process. He's the appointed messenger, and I rather doubt the snakes would take kindly to us slaughtering him. I'm surprised they didn't attack us back when you lost him in the jungle. The same goes for his little shipmate over here. For all we know, she's also a messenger. It's doubtful, but I can't see much use in taking the risk. Killing her creates more problems than it solves. You've probably frightened the poor thing half to death as it is."

Something seemed to occur to Murdin. "But if I let 'er go now, she'll run off."

Plink looked at Ciera imploringly. "I won't! I won't, Cap'n Ancora! I ain't goin' in that jungle alone again, I swear!"

"Oh, I know you won't." The ferret leaned down to make eye contact with the struggling ratmaid. Ciera gestured towards a patch of rustling greenery. "In case you weren't aware of the situation, we're presently surrounded by snakes who are expecting us to march straight over to the fire god's legions and end their crusade. If you tried to run off you'd regret it for quite a long ways."

"Long ways?" sputtered a confused Plink.

"Yes, all the way from a snake's mouth to its stomach – and parts beyond."

Plink grimaced at the idea. So did Murdin, a full second later.

Ciera stood, brushing the sand from her jerkin. "Welcome to the crew, Miss Plink. Congratulations, you've found the piracy you were looking for. Well done."

Plink angrily tore her shirt out of Murdin's grasp. It was hard to say which of them looked more put out by the current state of affairs.

"If you plan on fussing about with your injury any further, I'd suggest you do it now," Ciera informed the new recruit. "We'll be setting off for the fire god's mountain fairly soon."

Once the ratmaid had stomped off, Ciera pulled Murdin aside. "Wipe that glower off your face, stoat."

Murdin glared reproachfully at her. "Sorry, Cap'n."

"I don't trust the Waverunners any more than you, but we've got to have somebeast as prisoner."

Murdin's brows knotted. "Pris'ner?"

Ciera glanced over at shipmate Craws, a mere shadow in the greenery. "You didn't really think it'd be as simple as just talking to the mongooses, did you? We're going to need leverage, and keeping a few expendable beasts on hand will ensure that I'll still have you and Vera by my side if everything goes south."

She turned, and fixed the stoat with a glare. "I do have you by side, don't I, Mister Murdin?"

Murdin grinned, revealing a mouth like a badly-constructed picket fence. "Aye, Cap'n. I'll be right behind ye all the way."

Ciera allowed herself a rare smile. "That's what I'm counting on."

There was a fly buzzing round Ciera's ear. She swatted at it, muttering a curse at Vera's back. If they'd still had the lifeboat they could have circled the island in a fraction of the time, but now they were forced to slog through a trap-filled, snake-infested tangle of greenery.

Ciera didn't fancy walking as a means of transport. She was well accustomed to being up and about on her paws, attending to the hundreds of little problems that seemed to crop up all over the _Maiden_ , but all of that walking never actually took her any great distance from where she started. At the same time, the _Maiden_ moved much faster than a beast could on foot. Paradoxically enough, that meant that she was currently travelling both faster _and_ slower than she was used to. It was unnerving.

She'd purposely put Murdin at the front of the group. He was adept at spotting the natives' traps, plus it minimized the risk that he'd – accidentally, as the incident would undoubtedly prove to be – trip forward and fall onto Plink or Scully blade-first. Besides, walking at the rear gave her a chance to let her mind wander and process the events of the past few days.

She wondered idly about the _Phantom_. She knew well enough that the ship hadn't been scuttled at the battle of Terramort; she'd seen it sail away with her own eyes. At the time she'd assumed that it'd been hijacked by fleeing pirates. Everybeast upped anchor and fled after Atlas struck the death blow, it wasn't unreasonable to assume that somebeast hopped aboard the _Phantom_ to make their escape. In the following weeks, everybeast on the high seas had wondered about it. After leaving Terramort, the _Phantom_ vanished over the horizon and wasn't seen again. Some said that Vytas Longtail had taken it, but others swore they'd seen him cut down in the first assault; others had suspected that some nameless, faceless crewbeast had seized the opportunity to earn an impromptu captaincy and, more than likely, sailed it straight to the sea bed. Most pirates eventually concluded that the Waverunners had commandeered it, and sunk it themselves.

 _Well, wherever the_ Phantom _was, it's certainly here now._ Perhaps somebeast had taken it and sailed here, hiding out for ten seasons and impersonating Blade to intimidate any intruders while they sought his fabled treasure. _It'd certainly be an unnecessarily greedy thing to do, very pirate-y. But now we know it couldn't have been Waverunners, they'd have been suicidal to open fire on their Lord. Then again, for all I know, perhaps the thing is a ghost ship after all. The sea holds more than its fair share of mysteries beyond the ken of any of us…_

 _On the subject of ships and mysteries… what in Hellgates happened to the_ Scumcutter _? Maurick said it was sunk, but… how? The same ghostly attack that took down the_ Maiden _and the_ Zephyr _? How long ago could that have been?_ Truth be told, Ciera couldn't remember. In the weeks following the aftermath of Terramort, several of the empire's vessels had vanished without a trace, the _Scumcutter_ among them. The ship could've come here and been wrecked at any point in the intervening seasons. _And he'd said the rest of his crew were… "about where you'd expect," but what did that mean? I'd expect the crew of a sunken ship to be sunken. But the rat said Maurick ate them, so where else might one expect them to be? Unless, he meant me specifically, in which case… where would I expect them to be that some other beast wouldn't?_

At that point the mental trail faded away. She hadn't the faintest clue what Maurick could have been implying. If he'd been implying much of anything important – Maurick had always been something of a cracked egg. Now he was practically scrambled. Still, if he ever showed his face again she'd be sure to ask some pointed questions. Literally, if it came to that.

After a while, Ciera called a halt so that the wounded members of the crew could tend to their injuries. Between Vera's leg, Plink's tail, and everyone else's assorted scrapes, blisters, and bruises, there was quite a lot to tend to.

Ciera planted herself at the base of a tree. She closed her eyes, and savored the feeling of a light breeze on her face. The peace of the moment was somewhat spoiled by the sibilant whisper of scales in the nearby underbrush.

"Er, Cap'n," said Scully.

Ciera opened one eye. "What is it, shipmate Craws?"

Scully smiled nervously. "I was wondering if you could tell me more about Blade now?" A second later he added, "You promised."

Ciera laughed mirthlessly. _Ah, the impatience of the young._ "I suppose I did."

Scully held out the dagger, and Ciera took it. The weapon looked old. The handle was faded and worn, and the blade bore the particular dullness of aged metal. When had she seen it last? Had to have been… oh, at least fifteen seasons. It was frightening that it could make her feel so old while deep inside she was _sure_ she was still young...

Plink, apparently having tired of picking at the dressing on her tail, took a seat nearby – though not too near to Scully.

"This was his," Ciera said, addressing the ratmaid. "Blade's."

"How'd he lose it?" asked Plink.

Ciera shrugged. "He probably threw it away. It's a small weapon, not much good in an actual fight. He didn't have much use for it back in the glory days. We were spoilt for choice, really. The empire had a lot of weapons, we could outfit ourselves with whatever we needed."

She toyed with the dagger. It really was a nice little dagger, in its own way. But it hadn't fit into the vision, like so many other things. "See, pirates… well, pirates like to _have_ things. They spend their whole lives chasing treasure, letting the money pile up, but they never seem to have enough, and they'd never dream of actually spending it. But Blade, he was different. He wasn't selfish for selfishness' sake. He didn't keep things he couldn't use."

He hadn't even kept his old name.

 _Cyril slammed his dagger point-first into the desk, sending a sheaf of papers cascading to the floor._

"Cyril… what sort of name is that? Can you imagine it, asking pirates to pledge their allegiance to the empire of Cyril? It sounds preposterous. Nobeast respects Cyril."

Nobeast except Ciera.

"I don't think the name really matters," she put in. "I don't think it's the name they respect, so much as the beast."

Cyril stared at the dagger. Orange light from the candle glimmered on its edge.

"No," he mused. "They respect the beast… but not as much as they respect his blade."

"Is that what made him such a good pirate?" queried Scully.

"Oh, it made him an excellent pirate." It was the truth, more or less. Blade's habit of casting off anything – or, for that matter, any _one_ he had no use for had made him an excellent pirate. But it hadn't made him an excellent friend…

"Was my da a good pirate?" Plink asked abruptly.

"Very good," Ciera replied, as Murdin let out a snort. Technically, though, Scarcrab was a very good pirate. To be a pirate one had to be amoral, gutless, greedy, or stupid; Scarcrab had been a shining example of all four. Plink seemed satisfied, so Ciera opted not to embellish.

Scully wrinkled his nose disgustedly at Plink. "What else does it take to be a good pirate, Captain?"

"Well, being a good pirate is all about doing whatever your Captain tells you to do. And as long as you've got a good captain, they'll steer you right."

Murdin smirked, obviously still put out from the altercation on the beach.

"Are _you_ a good captain?" Plink asked, with an undertone of defiance.

Ciera raised an eyebrow. "Am I?" She found herself oddly curious on this point. Being appointed to the captaincy was a relatively new concept. Before Blade, pirate captains got the title by usurping their predecessor, and kept it by being inconveniently difficult to kill. Back then, every captain was a good captain by process of elimination.

"Chak said yer a marm."

"Would you like to know the most important thing about being a good pirate?" Ciera asked, brushing the comment aside.

Scully's ears perked up, and he nodded eagerly.

"A good pirate always knows when they're about to be betrayed. Watch, I'll show you."

Ciera rose, and drew the cutlass she'd scrounged from the beach. It was heavier than her old one, and not nearly as sharp, but it'd suffice for the purposes of this object lesson.

"Vera!" she barked.

Vera's head snapped upwards. Her eyes widened as she saw Ciera advancing with the blade. She looked about for an escape route, and saw none. Not with her leg in that condition.

"Over the past few days, you have behaved disgracefully. You destroyed our boat. You were insubordinate to your Captain in front of the crew. You disobeyed direct orders. I have offered you chance after chance to redeem your deplorable behavior, and every time I extend my paw, you spit on it."

"Captain, I-"

"What was the phrase you used to describe us? 'Traitorous pirate scum,' I believe. Seems to me that choosing Waverunners over your own crew is awfully traitorous, Vera. Wouldn't you agree?"

The vixen was trembling now. "P-Please, Captain…"

"And what is the cause of your treachery? Greed. All of it stems from _this,_ " Ciera snapped, drawing Vera's amulet from beneath her jerkin. The vixen's eyes immediately snapped onto it.

"Just another treasure-hungry pirate, aren't you, Vera? You were willing to sell me, Murdin, the entire lot of us into Atlas' clutches just so you could get your paws on it. You risked your own life for it, and for what? An object. A _thing._ "

Ciera held the amulet up by its silver chain, aloft for all to see. The ornament spun lazily, alternately revealing a large glittering ruby set into the front and the flat gleaming silver of the amulet's base.

"What can this bauble actually _do_ for you in this situation, Vera? Why could it possibly be worth all of our lives?"

The amulet spun.

"Can it help you cook a meal? Can it help you start a fire?"

Silver glinted.

"Can it be fashioned into a weapon to use against the many, _many_ beasts out there who want to kill us?"

The ruby flashed in the sunlight.

"Can it protect you from what I'm about to do to you?"

Silver gleamed like frost in the dead of winter.

"Treasure can't do anything, Vera!"

The ruby glowed like fresh embers from the depths of Hellgates.

"It can't do a single thing that's even remotely useful!"

Reflections danced in the silver.

"…except this."

Ciera turned and struck out with the cutlass at the face she'd seen reflected in the amulet. The blade was heavier than she was used to, and slower, but it still managed to neatly slice through Murdin's neck.

The stoat clutched his severed throat, gasping feebly.

"Typical pirate," she said. "Too distracted by treasure to notice the approach of danger."

Murdin hit the ground.

Ciera knelt. "I told you, Murdin. The woodlander's lives are worth more to me than yours. You were a good crewmate, but you refused to see the bigger picture. You wanted to rule this island. I want to leave it."

"Captain, I-" Vera began.

"Vera, your actions would have gotten you thrown off the _Maiden_ several times over. But we aren't aboard the _Maiden_ anymore. You understand that, even if you've gone about it in a profoundly stupid fashion. You're trying to move with the current, but Murdin insisted on standing against it. He refused to acknowledge the facts of our present situation. He would have taken matters into his own paws, eventually. Probably kill me first, for failing to live up to his vision of piracy, then Scully and Plink for being woodlanders. Then soon enough it would've been you, Vera, because your injury would only slow him down."

"That," Ciera snapped, flicking the dripping cutlass at Murdin's corpse, "Is what being a pirate is. It's always having to look over your shoulder in case somebeast is about to put a knife in it. It's stealing everything because nobeast cares enough to help you for free. It's never being able to trust anybeast. It's letting gold dictate your life. I knew pirates who'd rather starve to death rather than spend their gold to buy bread, because then the gold would be gone, and then soon enough so would the bread, and they didn't want to die having nothing. You don't choose to be a pirate, not really. It's something you're stuck with, because there's nothing else for you to be. If the two of you have got any sense in your heads, you'll forget about piracy and focus about getting off this island."

"And then what?"

Ciera sighed. "And then you'll get back to Mossflower, and you can forget about all of this piracy nonsense. Stop being a pirate."

"And then what?"

It was amazing how repeating those three little words could unravel any plan.

Ciera shook her head sadly.

"I have no bloody idea."

 _If I knew that… I'd have done it a long time ago._

 _END OF ROUND 3_


	46. Under the Whip

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Under the Whip**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

The small group of castaways was surrounded on all sides in a matter of seconds. A scarred warrior pointed a spear with a long machete-like blade at Chak's face, and everywhere the otter looked, grim-faced savages rattled bones and blades. One of the beasts with a set of long fangs arching over his knuckles pointed fiercely at the bodies of the four beasts that had attacked them earlier, giving significant looks to certain more brightly adorned warriors. One of these gave a coughing hiss, nodding purposefully at Chak and Robert's bloodied weapons and making a slashing gesture.

Chak let his club drop to the ground with a thud, lifting his paws up in surrender. A blur of movement and one of the savages was there beside him, a yellowed viper skull staring with empty sockets from atop the beast's head. Claws frisked Chak's sides eagerly, and before he knew it the creature had snatched both his dagger and Minstrel's dirk. He hopped away in a flash of fur, leaving behind only the scent of musk-coated decay.

Another wild beast wearing bright feathers jutting out from beaded shoulder bands searched Robert.

"Looks like they're not going to kill us outright at least," Rob noted with a shrug and a less-than-reassuring smile.

Chak secretly hoped the hedgehog's words would not curse them.

He cast a look at Crue to see how she was faring. She trembled as a painted savage felt her up and down with his paws, relieving her of a small knife and making a chortling comment to his companions when he found a wad of squashed berries in her apron pocket. Her twitching, bushy tail also seemed to amuse the savages.

Beyond Crue, Tooley's fixated glare caught Chak's eye. All of the weasel's attention seemed to be on the slave driver rather than the jungle beasts currently threatening them, which was disturbing. He hardly noticed the knife and bundle of sewing supplies being taken from him, though he did react with a small measure of panic when a savage snatched his hat.

The sound of a scuffle drew Chak's attention, and he noticed with some annoyance that Scrufftail was putting up a fight.

 _Stupid squirrel is gonna get us all killed._

As fast as the savages were, Scrufftail's stubborn resistance was almost laughable. He gripped his recently acquired spear with white knuckles, swinging and stabbing frantically. The jungle beasts sibilated and jeered, avoiding the jabs until one snatched the spear easily from the squirrel's paws. Chak laughed as Scrufftail proceeded to strike out with his claws at any savage that tried to get near. It was somehow satisfying to know that he wasn't the only one who found the squirrel to be frustratingly obstinate and difficult to handle.

"You're not helpin' things, Dox!" Robert shouted with an edge of concern. "Strugglin' will jus' give 'em a reason to kill us!"

But the squirrel was not listening.

Then one of the savages who had been watching with disapproval started toward Scrufftail, lifting a spear with sinister intent. Chak ran forward despite several shouts and seized the shaft mid-thrust. Scrufftail froze with the razor-edged speartip a mere paw's width from his heaving chest. Chak barely had time to meet the slave's outraged glare when a vicious blow cracked him across the side of the head, spinning him painfully into oblivion.

* * *

A throbbing pulse pressed Chak excruciatingly back towards consciousness. Sharp pangs seemed to jab at the backs of his eyes as well as the side of his head. He felt nauseous, and a heaviness pressed against his ribs so it was hard to breathe. He cracked a blurry eye, then blinked both open.

Scrufftail was sitting on top of him. The squirrel smirked, a triumphant glint showing in his eyes.

Chak jerked his arms up reflexively and Scrufftail jumped free, landing just beside him. The sea otter frowned at his paws with confusion. Leather bindings dug deep into the skin of his wrists.

Scrufftail's paws, on the other hand, moved freely as he strutted back and forth, swinging the braided straps that had once been his bonds.

Chak tried rising to his feet and promptly fell onto his face. His ankles were tied too. He breathed dirt and coughed, throat raw and swollen still from when the savage had tried to crush his windpipe in the first attack. He rolled himself into a crouching position, scrutinizing the cocky squirrel.

"You know," began the ex-slave, "when you're humiliated, there's not usually a way to get back what you've lost. No way to repay that debt. 'Cause even if you kill your tormentor, it still feels like he got away with something. Some part of you." Scrufftail stretched the bindings with his paws. "More than anything you want him to _feel_ what you felt. To have _his_ pride and self-respect stripped away along with his hide." Scrufftail snapped the woven strands of leather. "I've been waiting a long time for a chance like this. Three years, to be exact. Three years you stole from me, Chak Ku'rill. Years I will never get back."

A familiar voice spoke up from behind the bamboo bars to Chak's right, "Reedox, don' be a fool! You're free – you can climb these dirt walls – why are you wastin' our chance o' freedom with gettin' revenge? Get out o' here an' save us all!" It was Robert.

Another familiar voice, higher pitched, called out from the bars on the left, "Do it! Get the bilgedog! He needs ta pay for what he's done!" Tooley rattled the bamboo angrily.

 _"_ _Great,"_ thought Chak, _"_ _an audience."_

Scrufftail's eyes narrowed as he coiled the whip round and round a paw. "You never passed up an opportunity to thrash me in that time, and I'd like to… return the favor."

Chak scowled. "Yarrr! Stop yammerin' an' put yer muscle whar yer mouth be, Scrufftail. I cain take whate'er ye dish out."

"For the last time, my _name_ is _REEDOX!_ " the squirrel shouted, leaping at the slavedriver and lashing him right and left with the corded leather.

Chak lifted his tied paws so the whip struck his forearms rather than his face. "Is that all ye got?" He grinned defiantly.

"I'll flay the fur off your back, you devil!" Scrufftail bellowed, sinking his claws into the back of the corsair's shirt to tear it away.

Alarmed, Chak tried to grab the squirrel with his joined paws as one sleeve of the shirt tore down the seam. "Arrrr! Leave off, ye mangy dungbie!" He swung his fists angrily at the squirrel.

Scrufftail sprung out of reach, circling Chak and ripping at the worn fabric with his raking claws.

"Clawr 'im ta pieces!" Tooley shrieked, egging the squirrel on.

"Would you stop already?" Robert pled. "You're jus' gonna draw their attention!"

The two beasts spun around each other in a twisted dance, Chak trying to catch the nimble rodent while Scrufftail circled behind over and over again, scoring a scratch here and a tear there. Chak's already pounding head throbbed more intensely as dizziness skewed his vision. He lunged for the squirrel and crashed, sliding across the hard-packed earth.

Before he could recover, another ripping sound made Chak's breath catch, and the brisk sensation of sudden exposure across his back made him shudder self-consciously.

The squirrel halted abruptly and silence fell.

Chak breathed hard and hoarsely, glaring at the ground, unwilling to lift his eyes.

After several minutes, the sea otter finally looked up to discover Scrufftail had retreated from the cell. The otter shuffled over to the wall made of rock and dirt and pressed his bare back against the cool, rugged surface. He chanced a glance at Robert and saw something akin to horror on his face. And even worse… pity.

Chak's lip lifted spastically. Robert was the last beast he would ever want setting eyes on his weakness. Somehow, losing the hedgehog's respect seemed worse than any flogging Scrufftail could have ever inflicted. The sea otter drew his knees up to his chest and curled his tethered arms over his bowed head.

* * *

 _The young otter dripped saltwater onto the deck. Deadfang stood over him wearing that telltale stretched, open-mouthed expression that accompanied the worst of his chronic toothaches, which meant a bad day for any slave, let alone a slave who outright disobeyed him. Chak knew he was in deep trouble. Not only had he left without permission – he had been gone for hours. Hours of searching, searching, searching._

 _"Went fer a leisurely swim did ye?" The fox grabbed the half-grown pup by the scruff and lifted him up to meet his red-rimmed eyes. "Thought ye could escape in the middle o' the ocean, did ye?"_

 _"No, sir," the otter answered truthfully, though he reflected that his mother seemed to have finally found a way._

 _"Ye think ye cain jus' take off any time ye please?" The fox struck him across the face. "Ye think this be some sort o' pleasure cruise?" He struck him again._

 _Chak did not cower or apologize as he should, being lost in another world. Images of his mother kept playing in his mind. Her face had been so soft and kind in life, albeit marked by sorrow. She had lasted far longer than others from the old clan, teaching Chak the best way to chisel the fouling from ships without brushing against the sharp shells, and how to remain calm while others thrashed and panicked. She had even managed to acquire a small pair of mesh gloves to keep him safe while they worked, though how she had managed that was a secret she had never divulged._

 _When Chak had finally found her out on the water, she was hardly recognizable. At first he thought it must be murder, but then he saw the wrist wounds._

 _Why had she decided to give up now, after all this time?_

 _Blood filled Chak's nostrils after a third blow. He felt his eye swelling too. Pain. What was more pain at this point? It didn't matter._

 _The young otter's non-reaction appeared to irk the fox slavedriver far more than outright resistance. He threw Chak to the deck and pulled out his short chabuk whip._

 _"I be teachin' ye a lesson ye won' soon be fergettin, ye scummy li'l miscreant."_

* * *

The fox had been true to his word, inflicting wounds so numerous and severe that Chak was like a deadbeast for a week after, aware enough only to swallow water and a little gruel. The beasts assigned to care for him complained, as it took from their free time. They were all certain he would die.

But Chak defied them all and lived.

It was the last time, he decided, that he would be a victim. And, unlike his mother, who had oft spoke of a better life and longed to return one day to her far-away home, Chak would not let himself dwell on dreams and false illusions. He would not allow despondency to turn him into a half-eaten corpse. Life was hard. Life favored the strong. He would adapt. He would rise above it all, like oil to the surface.

Chak felt the knots of his long, naked scars touch against stone and roots. He had spent so many years fighting and clawing his way to the top, and here he was at the bottom again. It made him want to scream. He worked his wrists, managing to return some circulation to his paws, but little more.

The stink of the prison pit wafted around him, and it reminded him of another humiliation in store for them all if they remained here long enough. There was no privacy in prisons. He wondered how the privileged Robert would handle it. Chak chanced another glance at the hedgehog who sat staring out the bars opposite the otter s cell. Robert liked to pretend he understood them all, but Chak doubted he had ever really experienced true hardship. He was just a homely woodlander, and now, just another captive.

But no, Robert was more than that. He was something… nobler. He had a clarity to him that was beyond the sea otter's understanding in addition to a veteran's strength. A part of Chak wanted to bring the hedgehog down so that he would not feel so... _tainted_. But a greater part of him wanted the kind-hearted warrior to succeed and overcome – to prove there was a better way to live life that did not require abandoning one's self to less honorable paths in order to survive.

Robert turned and caught the sea otter's eye, giving Chak a curt, reassuring nod before leaning his quills back against the bamboo and settling into a resting position. Chak blinked as the realization dawned on him that Robert might actually still respect him, despite what he had seen. The hedgehog was not a pirate, after all.

Chak rubbed his shoulder blade against a rock where it itched. The fur had not grown back for the most part, and where it did, it grew wrong. But his skin was tough. Tough enough to endure nineteen years of slavery, and tough enough to endure this present captivity.

A roach scuttled across the floor and he mashed it reflexively with his trussed footpaws. The thing did not die, however, and continued in a more frantic, albeit crippled manner. Chak lifted his paws again, hovering menacingly over the struggling insect, sensing that familiar feeling of power over another's life.

 _Protect them._

It was an insect. A pest. It didn't deserve to live.

 _You did something no other slavedriver would have done._

Chak lowered his feet back to the ground and reached out his paws. The roach crawled onto the rough, calloused pads and froze apprehensively. The otter lifted the damaged bug to the wall and waited until it found a good grip. He watched as it slowly and painstakingly made its way up to the top of the pit, and escaped over the edge.

Satisfied, Chak turned his attention to freeing himself, starting with the leg bindings. If he had to start over, he would start over. He could endure. But perhaps this time, he could take the higher road.


	47. For My Part, I Am the Most

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **For My Part, I am the Most Innocentest Person of them All**

 _By: Plink_

 _With dialogue collaboration by Captain Ciera Ancora_

* * *

The stoat was dead. He was dead because the captain believed he would have killed them all, given the chance. Plink watched his eyes go dull as his blood wet the sand around him. She wasn't exactly sad to see him die - he had said he wanted to kill her and Scully, after all - but she was far from relieved.

She couldn't decide whether it was worse to drown a rat in a fit of rage or cut down a stoat without batting an eye.

The others were still talking, Scully and the fox both still sitting on the ground while the captain stood with her blade in one paw and Vera's amulet in the other. "And then you'll get back to Mossflower, and you can forget about all of this piracy nonsense. Stop being a pirate."

"And then what?" Scully repeated. He looked uncertain, but unafraid.

"I have no bloody idea."

In the beat of silence that followed, Plink looked between the three of them. They were doing this wrong. A beast was dead and something was supposed to happen now. One of them was supposed to stand up and say something. They weren't supposed to sit there like lumps, listening while the murderer gave them blind advice on their futures. But nobeast was moving.

Plink stood up, fists trembling at her sides. "I'll tell you ' _then what_ ,'" she spat. "You travel around Mossflower lookin' fer a safe place to live, an' you don't _find_ anything. The Waverunners an' the Long Patrol keep vermin clans from settlin' near the coast, an' inland there's nothin' but otter an' shrew territory. So unless you want to be a bandit or a mercenary, you'll end up washin' goodbeasts' clothes on the edge o' town 'till yer paws are blistered an' they find some excuse to drive you off!"

Captain Ancora regarded her cooly. "And how many pockets did you empty before they found their excuse?"

"That ain't the point," Plink said, ears burning.

"It's exactly the point. If you were stupid enough to invite hostility by stealing from your neighbors, then you were too stupid to coexist with them."

"It didn't matter if I stole or not! When things go missin', it's vermin who take the blame. You can call me 'woodlander' all you want, but you're wrong an' anybeast with eyes in their head can see it. Without Terramort, there ain't a place in this world fer vermin, an' if you don't know that, then _you're_ the stupid one!"

In the silence that followed, Plink became fully aware of what she had just said to this beast, her new and murderous captain. For all that several paces separated them, she felt far too close.

Captain Ancora did not move. "Then maybe vermin shouldn't have a place in this world."

Plink jerked backward, stunned and confused.

"Vermin think that if you steal something, it's free, but the truth is that a stolen item is more costly than you can imagine. You can only steal so much, for so long, until inevitably somebeast puts a halt to it. Pirates spent season upon season raiding and pillaging, and look what it brought us - extermination on an unprecedented scale."

Plink thought unbidden of all the trinkets she'd stolen aboard the Zephyr, then shook the memory away. "That ain't how it happened."

"Don't be naive. That's how it always happens." Ciera shoved the necklace back in her pocket, but she still held the sword. "You must have heard the legends. Lord Badrang, Ferahgo the Assassin, Ungatt Trunn, Princess Kurda of Riftgard... all of them destroyed, their castles pulled down, and their forces scattered to the winds. Why? Because they got too greedy and became too much of a threat."

"Cap'n Blade's pirates were different from those others…"

Her ma had told her all about them, so many stories of daring and camaraderie. Stories about Scarcrab. But after all she had seen of pirates, after Chak and Maurick and Murdin and the captain before her, Plink's voice lacked conviction.

Captain Ancora only stared off into the depths of the jungle. "We saw it coming, you know. Blade and I. We thought that maybe, if we could get control, make the pirates listen to us, get them all working together, we could stop it from happening. We could find a balance, some method of sustaining our way of life without provoking the wrath of Redwall and Salamandastron. And for almost five seasons, we managed it. But the pirates, the stupid bloody lay pirates who couldn't see the bigger picture, they forgot what we taught them. Whenever that gold coin was right there in front of them, they couldn't help themselves; they _had_ to take it."

The captain looked at Plink then. She was cunning and commanding, but in every other way so unlike what the young rat had wanted. This wasn't any dashing swashbuckler, or any marm like Plink had ever seen - but Captain Ancora was flesh and blood. She was real, and harsh as her words were, Plink couldn't stop listening.

"And you know what I think? I think on some level, they wanted it to happen." She gripped the cutlass tighter still. "We gave them facts, we gave them history. We tried to scare them straight. What _reasonable_ beast wouldn't be terrified at the prospect of wholesale destruction? And what do you think their reaction was? They stole even more, to _prepare_ for the war! The war that wouldn't have bloody happened if they hadn't been stealing so much in the first place! That's vermin logic for you! It was like plugging a dagger wound with a sword! This whole bloody war on piracy could have been stopped at any point, but they wouldn't do what it took to make it a reality. They sailed off to a war they could never win, and do you know why? Because honest living is hard. It takes work. And they can't do it. They'd rather die holding a cutlass than trade it in for a shovel."

Plink looked away, and her eyes fell on the dead stoat while her mind whirled. She remembered Robert digging with his oar. She remembered her ma's callused paws.

Captain Ancora was watching her with a stern, knowing expression. "Nobeast forced you to steal. But you forced them to punish you for stealing."

Plink glared bitterly up at the ferret and tried to imagine her begging for a meal. She couldn't. A snide retort came bubbling up her throat.

 _Just like Murdin forced you to kill him, huh? Funny how you and goodbeasts are so good at readin' vermin's minds!_

But Plink didn't utter a word, because what she could imagine - what she could very clearly picture - was that bloody cutlass coming down on her own throat next. She could imagine running through the jungle again, and not making it very far this time. She could imagine herself surviving all that she had in the search for this crew, and then spoiling it all by mouthing off.

Plink swiped the back of her paw across her still-sore muzzle and thought of Chak. She looked sourly back at the dead stoat.

"We oughtta bury him before the flies get bad. Cap'n."

She felt Captain Ancora's eyes linger on her for a moment longer, then the ferret huffed. "What is it with you mainland beasts and burying everything that dies? There's little enough daylight left for us to reach the mountain as it is. We're leaving him." She turned toward the fox. "Vera! On your feet!"

"I- Yes, Captain!"

Ancora chopped a path through the foliage, occasionally glaring back at the fox to keep her from lagging. Scully cast Plink a troubled glance, but then followed after them. His poisoned arrows bristled out of the quiver on his back. Plink lingered to stare again at Murdin's corpse.

His lips were drawn back to reveal his jagged teeth. Even dead, Plink was still a little afraid of him.

"I wouldn't let myself fall far behind if I were you, Miss Plink." Though she was out of sight, Captain Ancora's voice came clearly through the thick brush. "Our audience might begin to doubt your commitment to our task."

Though Plink had yet to see a snake, she hustled to catch up all the same.

The party made slow progress until mid-afternoon, when they came upon a shallow stream and began following it toward its source. They moved faster after that, and were able to spread out a bit, though Captain Ancora kept a close eye on them all. Plink glanced downstream more than once, wondering if this was the same stream that flowed near the other camp. She hoped Tooley had found his way back to them.

She looked back fearfully as well, afraid she would spot Maurick's red brow looming out of the greenery. Later in the afternoon, her tired eyes mistook the stream for a snake, and her heart leapt into her throat for a second before she realized the glimmering scales were only ripples on the water.

 _Walk the snake's spine  
clear up to his head  
an' step yer steps soft  
lest ye wind up dead. _

Plink stopped walking and stared at the flowing water. They were walking toward the source - the head of the stream. The head of the snake that wasn't a snake. The… metaphor. She had solved the first clue without even trying! But the next two lines were still a mystery. 'Step yer steps soft' - maybe it meant to walk on the moss?

Plink glanced at the rocks before her, but the mossy ones looked slick. Her eye traveled up ahead, to where the captain was sawing through the trigger line of another trap. It had been hidden beneath the surface of the water. Perhaps it really was safer on the rocks. Plink immediately set the thought aside, though. Scully was watching her with his same troubled expression. She scowled at him.

"What're _you_ lookin' at?"

He half-shrugged and turned back around to keep marching. Plink, still brooding on the riddle, followed along.

Vera's injury kept their pace easy enough, and Plink was glad for it. She had bandaged her burned footpaw, but the clumsy binding had come apart and sand had gotten in the wound anyway. Walking in the cool water dulled the pain, though, and as the light began to diminish, she started turning over rocks in search of something to eat.

She had gulped down a couple of grubs and found a big red earthworm when she realized Scully was watching her again. "Um… are you, like, eating bugs?"

"What? Does that upset yer sensitive woodlander stomach?"

"No!" He frowned at her scathing tone, but glanced between her and the worm with uncertain eyes.

Plink curled her lip at him and held out the squirming creature. "Prove it, then."

Scully hesitated, and Plink felt a swell of satisfaction. He couldn't do it. He could poison his arrows and look surly all he wanted, but he didn't have what it took to scrabble for survival like vermin had to, not really.

She drew a breath to taunt him, but at the same moment, Scully snatched the worm and shoved it in his mouth. For a second, Plink just stared as he chewed unhappily. A surprised laugh escaped her.

"D' ya like that, Scully Craws? How's it taste?"

He swallowed hard and cast her a hopeful, wary look. "Like dirt, mostly. But not too bad, I guess."

Scully offered up a smile, abruptly dabbing at his cheek. Plink smiled back reflexively, then wiped the smile away.

"Aye," she said with a shrug. "You get used to it."

"Mister Craws, Miss Plink." Captain Ancora's voice snapped them both around. She was waiting irritably beside Vera at a bend in the stream. "I'm sure working through your personal problems is quite rewarding for both of you, but if you don't keep up with the group, I'll put the two of you in the lead and let _you_ worry about finding traps before triggering them. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Aye, Cap'n."

She waited a beat. "The time to obey orders is now. Move!"

Plink and Scully scrambled over moss and loose stones to catch up, and only when they were within striking range did the captain turn, scorching them with a lingering glare, and carry on.

They hadn't gone far before Vera cast a look at Scully. "What were you eating back there?"

"Um…" Scully rubbed the back of his neck and hesitated.

"Worms," Plink cut in with a defiant look at the fox.

" _One_ worm…"

"Ah!" Vera smiled - and for all that it was a pleasant expression, Plink watched her narrowly. This fox wasn't in the captain's good graces, which would spell trouble for Plink if she got too friendly. Vera went on, still smiling. "I spent a season in a mole town a while back, and they made the best worm chips… I could probably pull the recipe together, if you'd gather some worms for me."

"Worm chips?" Scully asked. "Really?"

"What's the point o' cookin' a worm?" Plink demanded. "It's still gonna be a worm, ain't ever gonna taste great. Better to just eat it when you catch it an' get it over with."

"You'll be surprised," Vera said. "Pleasantly, I'd bet."

Dusk found them sheltering under a rocky overhang, eating hot, crispy worms off a flat stone by the fire, along with some kind of oblong fruits that Vera had worked free of their thick green peels and roasted on skewers. There was a sauce, too, and though Plink had shied away from it at first - the color and consistency reminded her of Murdin's blood soaking into the sand - when she finally tried it, it was spicy and delicious on everything.

Plink ate her last worm chip slowly, stealing glances at Vera as she chewed. The fox had finished her own food and was now removing her bandage to clean her wounded leg.

"Did you really live with moles?"

Vera glanced at her, then looked back to her task. "I did. It was a bad winter and I wound up snowed into their tunnels until spring. I swear it took half a season before I stopped adding 'Burr aye' to everything I said after that."

"An' they just let you live with them? Weren't they suspicious of you?"

"Oh, sure. One fellow in particular tried to convince the foremole to send me packing at least once a week." Vera shrugged, smiling mildly. "Luckily for me, the foremole was a very reasonable beast and wouldn't hear of me freezing to death trying to dig my way out." Her eyes flicked to the side, to where Ciera was sitting a ways off from the fire. "You can win over a lot of beasts with good manners, if you're persistent."

Plink looked at the captain as well, only to find her watching them with a dry expression. "If you're done cooking," she said, "put out the fire. The light could draw attention, and an attack by some group of primitives is the last thing we need."

Plink and Scully helped Vera break up the fire and kick sand over the remnants. Then, in the darkness, they all settled into the shelter beneath the outcropping while Captain Ancora sat the first watch. Plink lay awake for a long while, listening to the others breathe in the enclosed space.

Her ma had been polite, just like Vera said. Before she got sick, Damppaw had gone to so much trouble to make herself acceptable to woodlanders. Plink vaguely remembered her sewing their own clothes from a stiff, cheap cloth and insisting on regular baths with harsh soap, all just so they wouldn't stand out as much.

Maybe the captain was right. Maybe, if Plink hadn't stolen so much, they wouldn't have had to move around so often. Maybe Damppaw would have been better off without her.

The thought stabbed at her, and Plink curled into a ball. Gradually she relaxed in the heat of the bodies nearby, and the steady silence that meant Captain Ancora was still keeping watch.

* * *

Plink woke near dawn to a sharp pain and blearily realized she had grabbed her tail in her sleep. By the soft light, she could see Scully curled on his side before her. His whiskers twitched and his brow wrinkled with some troubling dream.

Plink frowned at him, then crawled out of the shelter and made for the stream.

"Don't wander off." Captain Ancora sat where she had the previous night - awake again, or still, Plink couldn't tell.

"Aye, Cap'n. Just want a drink."

The ferret narrowed her eyes, then dipped her snout in grudging acceptance. "Keep an eye out for snakes, Miss Plink."

Plink went on to the stream and drank, then scrubbed her face and rinsed and rebandaged her wounds. It was when she rose and made to leave that she spotted something she hadn't been able to see in the gloom of the previous evening.

The stream vanished uphill from where she stood. Water spouted out of a dark gap within a tumble of boulders. They had come to the head of the spring. Plink looked around with wide eyes, mouthing the next part of the riddle.

 _The mossy lass looks  
far finer'n she kisses-  
but she'll lead ye on still  
if ye listen to 'er hisses._

In the humid air of the hollow, moss covered most everything. Rocks, roots, and trunks all wore thick cushions of the stuff. Plink climbed atop the boulders for a better look, but she didn't see anything resembling a 'lass'.

She heard footsteps coming from the stream and turned in time to see Scully emerge from the bushes, looking around anxiously. He spotted her and relaxed a measure, then thumbed back over his shoulder. "Um, the captain wants to move out. We should maybe head back…"

"Right." Plink began the climb down, but then hesitated. When they started marching again, her chance to solve the riddle and find the treasure could be lost. Tooley wasn't here to finish the adventure with her, but maybe it would be better to do it alone than not at all.

"What are you doing up there, anyway?"

"Lookin'…" Plink hedged and peered down at Scully. His cheeks had fluffed out again - perhaps from the way he scrubbed the sleep from his face - and despite the damage to his uniform, he looked almost the same as he had aboard _The Zephyr_. He looked like the hare who had nearly been Plink's friend.

Scully looked down at the stream and dabbed at his cheek with one paw while digging around in his pocket. "Listen, um… I wanted to… like…"

He pulled out a small object and held it out toward her. A glass vial. "I wanted to give you this."

Plink folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. "I don't want yer _hemlock_ , Scully Craws. I ain't a poisoner like you."

The pink insides of Scully's ears reddened, but he didn't withdraw his offering. "This isn't hemlock. It's, um, sort of like fox perfume. You can use it to cover your tracks, you know?"

Plink didn't say anything, but when Scully climbed on a rock and reached up to pass her the vial, she took it. True enough, even the cork smelled distinctively like fox. The glass itself was smooth and warm. Plink wrapped the vial in her handkerchief and tucked it away, not in the front pockets of her jacket, but in the little hidden pocket inside. Then she looked again at Scully.

"Can… can you keep a secret, matey?"

He smiled bright with hope and relief. "Yeah! Totally!"

Plink checked to be sure they were alone, then let her own excited smile creep over her face. "I know how to find Cap'n Blade's treasure."

Scully gaped. "It's really here? How do you know?"

"That macaw - he figured it out." Plink grinned, warming to a new idea. "We could go find it, you an' me. What d'ya say?"

"Yeah! But, like… what about the captain? And Vera?" Scully scratched his neck. "And the snakes?"

"I haven't seen any snakes. Maybe they went away." Plink ignored him as he shook his head. "And you saw how fast Captain Ancora killed that stoat. He didn't even do anythin', just said some stuff."

Scully swallowed and watched the scum swirl in a little pool off the stream. Plink shrugged off his silence.

"We'd be stupid to hang around an' just wait fer our turn, Scully."

"What if that crazy bird comes after us? And what are we supposed to do with a bunch of treasure, anyway?"

Plink frowned at him. She wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. Treasure wouldn't help them survive. Treasure couldn't do anything, except get them killed.

Scully let out a frustrated sigh and looked back at Plink. "I don't think the captain would hurt us unless she had a reason to suspect we were up to something. Besides, I just, um… have a feeling that things are gonna work out if we, like, stick with her a little longer." He held out a paw for her to take. "So… don't leave me behind this time?"

Plink glanced around the mossy hollow again, but nothing had changed. If there was a rock here shaped like some kind of lass, she couldn't see it.

And maybe that was for the best. She had a crew now, after all, and a captain. Even if they weren't what she had expected, they were more than she had had in a long time.

Scully still waited, and Plink hesitated just a moment before clutching his paw and letting him steady her as she climbed down. He didn't release her paw immediately. Plink looked up into his smiling face.

"I'm, um, glad we're friends again."

Friends. Plink didn't really notice that she gripped his paw tighter than before, but she noticed how warm it was, and how good it felt to share this simple contact with another beast.

There was a sound of somebeast approaching through the thick greenery, and Captain Ancora stalked out into the stream bed, followed shortly by Vera. Plink and Scully both snatched their paws away and braced themselves as the captain spotted them and took two threatening steps toward them.

But on the third step, the captain froze. They all did, because a roar had cut through the jungle. Plink felt it like a physical chill. She knew only one beast who could make a sound like that. Just days ago, he had stood on the deck of _The Zephyr_ and raised his massive sword to kill her.

"Atlas."


	48. With Keys to the Cage

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **With Keys to the Cage and the Devil to Pay**

 _By: Ciera_

* * *

"Run!" Ciera hissed.

With their assorted injuries, the group was capable of a sort of fast-ish trot, but that was about it. Ciera took the rear, cutlass at the ready, watching for any further signs of the rogue Badger Lord. There were no immediate signs of pursuit, and the crashing sounds seemed to fade away into the distance. Still, Ciera refused to lower the blade until a good hour after the last sign of him.

Once the immediate threat had passed, Ciera allowed herself to take notice of their surroundings. As they progressed, she spotted subtle changes in the scenery. At first the differences were unremarkable, slight notches on trees, or rocks in slightly unusual positions. Little things just slightly out of place, but subtle indicators that living beasts had passed through the area. But the signs grew more numerous, and more obvious: patches of the jungle floor worn by frequent footpaws, lonely stumps where fallen trees had been hauled away for lumber. Scully, the most keen-eyed of the group, also began noticing more signs of traps. There was no doubt about it, they were approaching the fringes of sort of civilization.

Ciera called a halt, so that the tattered group could discuss what for lack of a better term comprised their plan.

"As I see it, our best option is to just simply walk in there and ask them to hear us out. We explain that we're envoys from the serpent tribe, here to broker some kind of peace agreement with the worshippers of the fire god, and ask if they'd be willing to consider meeting with the serpents to discuss the details."

"And then what?"

Ciera looked around for any sign of serpents, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Then we leg it into the jungle before something goes wrong."

Scully grimaced. "Such as?"

"We're addressing a tribe of violent lunatic mongeese on behalf of a tribe of deluded lunatic serpents, pretending to be the divinely-appointed messenger of a god who is, in point of fact, a _mountain._ There's a marauding badger out there who could burst in at any moment and slaughter us all, and the snakes think we're on the same side as him. We don't know why the tribes are warring, we don't know whether they can effectively communicate with us, we don't know if a random rock will fall off the mountain and they'll treat it as a sign that we need to be burnt alive… frankly, it'll be shocking if anything _doesn't_ go wrong."

"That doesn't sound like a very good plan."

"It isn't a very good plan."

"Then why are we doing this?"

"Well, that's very simple. The deluded lunatics will _definitely_ kill us if we don't, whereas the violent lunatics will only _probably_ kill us if we do."

There was silence as the group pondered their rather precarious situation. Well, most of them.

"I thought they're called mongooses," put in Scully.

Ciera glared. "If you have one goose and you get another goose, you have two geese. If you have one mongoose and you get another mongoose, you have mongeese. It's the same thing."

"But if I have one noose and I get another noose, I have two nooses."

"Scully, I just… I don't care."

Ciera tried to recall what she'd been about to explain, but the nomenclature issue had snarled the fine thread of her thoughts. She was still seeking a follow-up when a stray sound caught her ear. Somewhere nearby, fronds were being brushed aside, much more brusquely than they would have been by wind. The sound inexplicably reminded her of the way in which a few skittering pebbles herald an avalanche.

"What is that? Another snake?" There was a slight tremor to Vera's voice.

Ciera grimaced wryly. "Oh, I doubt we're that lucky."

A ragged bellow tore through the jungle, close enough to raise the hairs on her neck.

Scully's eyes darted towards the jungle. "Should we run for it?"

"We should. But _we_ ," Ciera gestured vaguely at the injured members of the crew, "are probably not capable of outrunning him. Vera, Plink, if you don't intend to fight I suggest you start running for the village."

Plink's nose wrinkled. "I thought you said we couldn't outrun Atlas?"

"We can't. But you three can."

"You're going to fight?" Scully's eyes were wide and bright. "I can help!"

"No. Go with them. As the messenger you might be able to talk the mongeese into being lenient. At the very least, it'll keep you three out of reach of the angry snakes."

In a perfect world, somebeast would have asked, "But why will the snakes be angry?" at which point Ciera's eyes would've narrowed dangerously as she responded, "Because I'm about to kill their champion."

This world wasn't perfect, and the other three scuttled off without clarification. Ciera didn't bother watching them go, but instead tore a few large fronds from the surrounding foliage and spread them into an untidy heap over a shady rut in the ground. Then she waited.

Twigs crackled somewhere in the greenery. She stared into the jungle, trying to spot her quarry. Though it couldn't have been much later than afternoon, the entire area was a kaleidoscope of green foliage and black shadows. The slightest breeze upset the whole mess, causing the shapes to contort and fracture.

But there, less than a stone's throw away, a tangled mess of vines cast a deep pit of shadow. Deep enough to conceal a very large beast. She pointed her cutlass at the blackness, and steeled herself.

Time to die.

A small nub, black on black, emerged. It looked as though somebeast had pinched off a section of the darkness and was drawing a living shadow out into the light. The nub elongated, becoming a nose, a snout. One eye flared, gleaming brilliantly.

"Hello, Atlas."

The badger emerged fully into the sunlight, a nightmare made flesh. The dappled sunlight revealed a monstrosity in black and white – and quite a lot of red. The temperature and humidity of the island had not been kind to Atlas. Heat radiated off of the badger's hoary shoulders, and his fur bore a damp, sickly sheen. His armor was gone, and what little clothing remained was not so much worn but rather plastered to him with sweat and blood. The single bloodshot eye rolled and locked directly onto Ciera, and the badger's maw split into a jagged grin.

"Captain Ancora."

The badger took a few steps forward, bringing him closer to the fronds she'd spread. He was favoring his left leg, and it wasn't hard to see why. Atlas had encountered one of the mongeese's traps, one involving quite a few pointed stakes by the look of it.

"Easy, Stormstripe. I don't want to fight you."

The grin widened, exposing a few cracked molars. "Of course you don't. Typical pirate cowardice."

Ciera refused to allow herself to be rattled. She shot a quick glance into the foliage. The serpents needed to hear this part. If she ran from – or by some miracle, killed – Atlas, she didn't want to risk retribution. "I rather think we're on the same side, here, Atlas."

"Never."

Ciera stuck the cutlass point-first into the jungle carpet. "We want the same thing. Peace."

"There will be peace when you are dead."

Atlas tensed, ready to spring forward and tear her to pieces. She could see the madness churning in the badger's one good eye. Blood was diffusing into the pupil, staining it bright red. Any second now there would be no white left.

She'd heard legends about the Bloodwrath. There was no chance of reasoning her way out of this. Once the rage fully set in, there'd be nothing but the red mists, urging him to kill and kill and kill. Any second now.

He'd be impossibly fast, and nearly impervious to pain. No amount of tail-pulling or cheap shots to the voonerables would stop him. Any second now.

 _Any second._

Now.

It took half a second to flick her gaze from the bloodshot eye to the conspicuous layer of fronds at Atlas' feet, then back up again. Another half second to tighten her facial features just so, contriving to pretend that the little furtive glance had never happened.

Atlas' heightened senses were stretched taut, ready for him to burst forth and unleash. He couldn't have missed her glance even if he wanted to. The eye snapped downwards, recognized the signs of an obvious pit trap. Instinctively, he leapt to the side, intent on avoiding it.

By that point Ciera had already snatched the cutlass, turned, and begun to flee.

The gamble wouldn't slow him down much, but it'd confuse him, throw him off stride. It'd buy her a second or two, perhaps that would be enough.

Something bulled into her. Perhaps not. The blow knocked her sideways, sending her scudding across the ground. Roots and plant spines raked her flank. Something hard sent a trill of pain through her ribcage.

She gasped, winded. Atlas loomed, sideways in her spotty vision. Her spirit burned at the sight of him. It was his fault Blade was dead. It was his fault she'd lost the Maiden. It was his fault that she was on this Fates-forsaken island. Him and his bloody war on bloody piracy had cost her everything.

A bowstring creaked.

The badger dodged, impossibly fast. One instant he was in the arrow's path, the next he wasn't. It speared harmlessly into the dirt. Atlas roared and charged after the shooter.

Ciera forced herself upright, staggering slightly. A flash of brown dodged through the trees.

 _Scully._

The idiot must have decided to come back and help her. Ciera made a mental note to severely tan his hide for insubordination if they both survived this.

The leveret dodged a swipe from the enraged badger, and headed back in Ciera's direction, no doubt assuming that a two-on-one advantage might win the day. It was a nice thought, but lack of breath tended to put a considerable damper on one's swordfighting skills. Ciera stooped and tried sucking in a few ragged lungfuls on the off chance that it'd ease the throbbing in her chest. No such luck.

Scully blitzed past her. Atlas left off chasing the faster prey and sighted his original quarry. He turned to face Ciera head on. Perhaps this was how the _Maiden_ had seen the oncoming _Zephyr_ ; a looming threat, impossible to divert, impossible to dodge, impossible to outrun.

What else was there to do?

 _Ram the bastard right back._

She cast the cutlass aside, and in the same motion swept a paw downwards, snatching up something from the ground. She stood erect, facing down the badger. Atlas came at her like the prow of a speeding galleon.

She broke into a lurching run. Her air-starved lungs screamed in protest. The gap between them shrank away like water in the desert. At the last possible second, she leapt upwards and flung the pawful of dirt. The clump stayed intact for only half a second, but just long enough to erupt into a gritty brown bloom on the badger's muzzle. Dust and dirt hailed into Atlas' wide-open eyeball.

An arm like a tree trunk slammed into her. The world blurred, and her chin slammed into the ground. The sharp tang of blood filled her nostrils.

Atlas roared again, lashing out indiscriminately. Something massive whistled past Ciera's head. The ferret dragged herself out of range. Everything on her left side felt numb, her arm and leg might as well have been made of wood. Something felt very wrong.

Scully ran past again, setting bushes aquiver. What in blazes was that idiot doing? She hauled herself upright, her breathing labored. There was another brown flash in her peripheral vision.

Atlas clawed at his eye, blinking away the irritant. He turned towards Ciera. She couldn't get away. Couldn't even stand up.

 _Time to die. Any second now..._

...But then, a rope whipped out of the foliage and coiled around Atlas' trunklike arm. He snarled, and tore it free with his other arm. A thin brown beast, still holding the rope, was dragged forward. Atlas' fist came down like a divine hammer, crushing the savage's skull. He flung the corpse from him - which meant he was completely unprepared when the next rope snapped taut round his neck. Before he could react, more sinewy tendrils of rope lashed around his torso, his arms, his legs.

And then the woodlands exploded with chittering savages, hauling on the makeshift hawsers. The Badger Lord roared like the breath of Hellgates, straining against the bonds. For a second, Ciera feared they might snap, but the sinews held. Atlas, the Badger Lord of Salamandastron, slaughterer of pirates, was brought to his knees.

She might've cheered then, if the mongeese hadn't looked over at her, and smiled. From a little ways off, she could hear Scully blustering ineffectually in the grasp of one of their tribemates.

It was hard to surrender without full use of her paws, but somehow she managed it.

The mongeese had managed to capture Vera and Plink without much fuss, and after a rather awkward reunion the four of them were unceremoniously marched off. Atlas was dragged along behind them, his bulk being towed like a wounded vessel by at least a score of the jabbering savages.

Feeling eventually returned to Ciera's limbs, and raised merry hell over what'd been done to the place while it was away. She was annoyed to discover that the pain she'd missed out on in the initial shock hadn't gone away, it'd strategically withdrawn to increase its forces. She grimaced with each painful step, and found herself gaining a newfound respect for Vera. The vixen had borne similar injuries with little complaint - perhaps she was more resilient than Ciera had given her credit for. Plink, on the other hand, kept shooting irritated glances at Ciera, doubtlessly blaming her for their circumstances. She resisted the urge to give the little ratmaid a thick ear. Scully, on the other paw, was fuming at their captors. Evidently his divine messenger status wasn't earning him any favors just yet.

A painfully eternal brief while later, they came to the center of... something. It was technically a village, in much the same way that frog droppings are technically insects; all of the ingredients were theoretically in there somewhere, but with enough deficiencies and deformities that it'd take some careful prodding to identify anything familiar.

Another mongoose appeared. This one was older than the warriors who'd captured Atlas, with a distinct hunch and a narrowness to his eyes and facial features which evoked the image of a furry hatchet. His sinuous posture lent itself to a gait that was more glide than walk. A necklace of snake teeth jangled slightly with the motion. The entire effect of authority was capped off by the staff he carried, which was topped with a serpent's skull.

"Ayah Pries!" piped one of the savages. "Ve ketch der stripe demon. He keel tree an ten our atilak but ve ketched heem goott an tight."

"Ayah!" responded the priest. He oiled over to inspect the captive Atlas, who was panting heavily. "Fiyah Gott be much please vitt tis!"

Atlas snapped his jaws at the mongoose, who effortlessly stepped back and rapped the badger's nose with his staff. "Be plenny kerful," advised one of the warriors. "Dis demon, heem keel lotta monkooses."

Ciera refused to look in Scully's direction.

"Chakah! Brink plenny more rope. Gotta holt dis one tight. Fiyah Gott be mos displease if he gerraway."

Once a few stout warriors had been dispatched to find more ropes for the prisoner, the priest deigned to notice Ciera's crew for the first time. "Who dese?"

"Dey-"

"We have a message for you," Scully interrupted.

Ciera groaned. It was unfathomably unlikely that the mongee- the mongoo- that the priest mongoose and all of his minions were likely to accept the peace treaty - after all, Atlas had been the serpent tribe's biggest bargaining chip. With him captured, the serpents really didn't have much of a leg to stand on. Scully, however, didn't think politically, and was still proceeding with the original plan.

"'Messij?'" The priest seemed to have no clue what the word meant.

Scully was somewhat thrown by this, and tried to dice the idea into smaller words. "They, they want- y'see, they want to make peace with you."

"Pease?" snarled the priest. Evidently this was not a popular concept among his kind. "Who? Who vant pease vit us?"

Ciera stepped in. "The snakes."

"'Snakes?'"

"Snakes," Ciera repeated, making a sort of slithering motion with her paw. "Sssss. Snakes."

As one, the mongeese grinned. Ciera looked at the bared teeth, sensing a joke here that she wasn't privy to.

The priest pointed. "You mean _dose_ snakes?"

Ciera turned. Her heart sank.

"Sssss," hissed the priest. Several mongeese laughed. It was a high-pitched, mocking sound.


	49. Today Has Just Gone to the Pits

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Today Has Just Gone to the Pits**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

"Uh, oh!" Scully said as the mongoose hunting party came into the village. Vera looked over the dozen or so weasel-like beasts who carried a huge, dead snake over their heads. Around her, mongooses chattered in excitement at the sight of that snake. Sunlight glinted off the remains of gold paint on its scales. Vera gulped and took half a step back from the large serpent. Her leg ached in reminder.

Behind them came more mongooses, these ones leading a group of beasts bound with leather cords and roped together by the neck with vines. Vera recognized the hedgehog named Gerro and realized that these were the Waverunners who had captured them on the beach two days before. The same ones that Scully and Ciera had said were captive to snakes.

Looking at the deceased serpent in the lead, Vera guessed that the Waverunners' captors had changed in the last day or so.

Scully took a step back to hide behind Ciera as his former allies were led up to the High Priest. No words passed between the Waverunners and their traitor, but the cold glares spoke far more than words ever could.

Little brown mongoose kits darted back and forth with clumsy quickness, hissing and spitting at the snake and captives. A big mongoose warrior spoke to the High Priest in rapid fashion. Vera tried to follow the thread of conversation, but to no avail.

The high priest dismissed the warrior and regarded them again with a smirk. "Terms of peace comah too late, ayah! Snekk king ve deed! Now allah you beastahs ve sacrificed to te Fiyah Gott!" To the warriors, he said, "Teek anything of value as ee gift for te greet Fiyah Gott. Den trow dem in de pit wit de rest."

Plink and Scully both squeaked as snake-skin clad warriors darted in and grabbed them roughly. Ciera half drew her cutlass before the mongooses descended upon her and wrestled it away.

Vera grimaced as the mongooses began feeling her up and down, taking her knife and crab mallet. She turned toward the high priest of the mongooses. "Great Priest, this child carries the blade of the Fire God. He is a messenger chosen by..."

"I, Shuga, am te only messeenger to te greet Fiyah Gott!" The high priest pointed his snake-skull scepter at Vera. "You ve liars!"

A glint of silver and ruby caught Vera's eye. _No, no, no!_

The savages had found her amulet in Ciera's pocket! She took a step toward it, paw outstretched, but a mongoose spear jabbed her in the belly. Ciera shot her a warning glare and Vera let her paw drop. She stared after it as the mongooses deposited in a woven basket with their weapons. She swallowed as two young mongooses took the basket away somewhere in the village, suddenly realizing that it might be completely lost to her forever.

Tough leather straps were brought out and Vera, Ciera, Plink and Scully had to submit their paws to being bound tightly. Then they were shoved further into the village, following the same route that the Waverunners had taken. Vera stumbled along on her wounded leg, which a particularly malicious mongoose took great pleasure in prodding once he realized it caused her pain.

 _Hope you choke on a snake bone, you mangy runt!_

Vera glanced over her shoulder as she heard some whimpering behind her and beheld the two terrified faces of Scully and Plink. Two youngsters who didn't deserve this sort of cruel fate. She returned her gaze the front.

The mongooses led them past rows of holes adorned with snake skin and bones, along with brightly colored feathers from various jungle birds. Female mongooses in brightly dyed skirts watched them from the shady doorways with the littlest mongoose kits held close. Older kits feigned attacks at them.

They stopped at the edge of circular pit similar to a doughnut. The first outer pit was divided into open air cages by bamboo poles. Each cage had a pair of dirt walls and perpendicular to those, a pair of bamboo bars. The mongooses worked in groups to lower the Waverunners into the cages. A walkway stretched across the first pit to the 'doughnut' of dirt and Vera could see a second, round hole in the center of this. From this inner pit, she heard angry bellowing rumbles.

 _That must be where they put the badger._

Shuga the high priest shook his staff over the pit. "Here you weet til midnightah!"

In front of Vera, two mongooses looped a vine rope around Ciera in order to lower her into a cell. The captors who were not helping stood clustered around the pit, pointing and jeering at those already below.

"They... They're going to kill us, aren't they," Scully whispered behind her.

Vera swallowed. It sure seemed that way. _Even if I could get away, this leg would slow me down. Running away is hopeless. But..._

Vera didn't consider herself a brave beast. Bravery was shown by those like Sarn and Fildering. Beasts who were willing to sacrifice themselves for another. Beasts like Scully, who defied his captain in order to give his friend a burial.

Vera wasn't brave, most of the time. But maybe, just once, she could do something brave.

She looked at Scully and Plink again. When Scully's eyes met hers, Vera mouthed one word.

 _Run!_

Vera pushed back from her captor and fell against the mongoose holding Scully as if in a sudden faint. He released his grip on the young hare to grab at her. She twisted around and gripped his snakeskin belt with her bound paws. The young hare bolted away amid cries of alarm from the mongooses. Plink tried to follow, but her guard held her too tightly. Some of those from around the pit chased after Scully.

Vera's captors hauled her back and somebeast cuffed her hard on the head. Dazed, she barely resisted as they shoved her over the edge of the pit and into one of the cages. She hit the bottom, crying out at the jolt of pain sent through her leg. Ciera thumped down beside her with a grunt. In the cage next to her, Plink yelped as they pushed her in.

A small rock hit Vera on the head and she glanced up to see a mob of youngsters clustered all around the edge, chattering and jeering. They pelted her with more rocks, so Vera curled up with her arms over her head to protect herself as much as possible.

"Ayah! Gettah back, pikapiks! Tair for di Fiyah Gott. No spoilah dem!" The rocks stopped.

Ciera rubbed her head where a stray rock had pegged her. "Did you really just help Scully to get away?"

Vera shrugged. "He's just a kid."

Ciera gave her a long look, then sighed. "Aye."

"You helped that traitorous little leveret get away, eh? Where does that bloomin' leave the rest of us?"

Vera recognized the hare who shared their little cell, though his name escaped her. "Forgive me, but I don't think we were ever properly introduced?"

"Colonel Killian Wrightbones t' you! What've you done with young Fildering, wot?" The hare, still bound like she was, got to his feet and approached her angrily.

Vera smiled. "I have done nothing to Fildering. In fact, before we got separated, he entrusted me with something." Though it was difficult with bound paws, she dug into her hidden apron pocket and pulled out the little parchment that Fildering had carried. "His sister gave this to him before he left home."

Killian took it, looked at it and then regarded her with suspicion. "Why would he give this to a pirate?"

"Oh for..." She forced a smile that made her jaw hurt. "Colonel, I'm a cook. Not a pirate."

"Cook or pirate, you're still flippin' vermin to me!"

Vera noticed Ciera watching her, but she kept her easy smile focused on Killian. "Fildering's quite the promising young warrior, isn't he? You see, he saved me from a snake while we were out in the jungle. I trusted him with my life, and he didn't let me down."

"That didn't answer my question, fox."

She sighed. "I'm keeping it safe for him."

The hare raised an eyebrow. "How do I know you didn't just murder him, eh?"

Vera shifted herself into a more comfortable position, but her stomach rolled within her. "I promise you. I did nothing to harm him. I owe him my life."

The hare's ears twitched and he looked to the child's drawing and back to her several times, then handed the paper back to her. "If I find out you're lying to me, those mongooses won't have anything left to sacrifice, understood?"

"Of course, but I have told you the truth." She tucked the paper back into her pocket.

Vera took stock of her surroundings. Bamboo bars stood on either paw and rocky dirt rose before and behind her. She looked to her left where there sat a female squirrel and a hare in the tattered blue uniform of the Waverunners. In the next cell, almost out of view around the curve of the pit, was a big hedgehog in Waverunner colors. To her right, Plink stared around wide-eyed. On the rat's other side sat two hares, one obviously injured. If anybeasts were in the cages beyond that, they were hidden from sight by the dirt.

An additional ruckus on the rim of their pit drew all eyes upwards. One final prisoner joined Plink in her cage.

Scully hadn't gotten far. Vera's shoulders sagged.

Plink helped her friend to sit up, then squeaked as Killian reached his bound paws through the bars and made a grab for Scully. "You backstabbing runt!" He yanked Scully hard against the bamboo bars.

Vera and Ciera struggled to their feet and dragged Killian back from Scully. Killian continued his verbal abuse of the younger hare. "You're a disgrace, sah! Siding with these vermin scum over your own crew!"

Ciera got in Killian's face. "You might want to rethink who you're with, Waverunner. Right now, you're with two 'vermin scum,' one of whom you've already threatened."

"Stand down, Colonel Wrightbones!" Colonel Fredrick Swiftpaw ordered from a few cages away. "An officer like yourself shouldn't behave so brashly. Besides, fighting amongst ourselves won't get us out of here."

"Aye, sir," Killian said reluctantly.

"The old hare's right," Ciera said and gave Killian a light shove. "Anybeast have any ideas?"

As Killian went over to one corner of their cage and sat, the big hedgehog a couple cells over spoke to Ciera. "We got two squirrels over here. They can climb the walls, an' I don' think these things know they're pretty good at it."

Vera limped to the corner opposite from Killian and slid down to sit on the hard packed earth. She leaned back against one of the bamboo bars and closed her eyes as she listened to the prisoners try to work out some sort of escape plan. She heard a soft scraping noise behind her and felt the slight warmth of the young hare and his rat friend pressed against her back.

 _Great... am I now playing mother hen to these two?_

"Thanks, for... trying," Scully said in a strained voice. "But... I'm just not fast enough."

She shrugged, "I gave you what I could. A pity it wasn't enough."

"I'm glad you're my friend," he said, resting his head back against the bar

The vixen snorted. "No beast calls me friend anymore, Scully, and neither should you. I'm not your friend. I told you before. Watch who you trust and definitely watch who you call friend."

"What about that Fildering beast? Why'd he give you that paper if he ain't yer friend?" Plink said.

Vera hissed softly, glanced at Killian, who was deep in conversation with the hare in the neighboring cage. "We weren't friends," she whispered and jerked her head at Killian, "and I didn't tell him everything. Fildering is dead. Murdin killed him."

Plink's mouth formed a round 'O' and she looked at Scully.

Scully shrugged.

Vera closed her eyes again, then grimaced as she heard Plink draw a breath. "You ain't got any friends at all, Vera?"

"Not anymore. Last friend I had died eight seasons ago." She felt tears start to well up in her eyes. She took a few slow, soft breaths and in the long pause that followed, she thought Plink would drop the subject.

She was wrong.

"Eight seasons is an awful long time ta be alone..." Plink said quietly.

Vera snorted. "I know." _But I would have been a fool to make friends at Fort Blackfur._

"Ain't you made any pirate friends?" Plink persisted.

"No, of course not. Never even knew a pirate until I made the mistake of getting on that da..." she glanced at Ciera and cleared her throat, "um, Captain Ancora's ship."

"How'd he die?"

"I don't know. Hylan was a merchant. He left on one of his trips..." Vera swallowed a lump in her throat, "And he never came back."

"Oh. Well then... How d'you know he's dead?"

Vera picked at a little dirt that had gotten under her claws. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Hylan always wrote me, no matter how far away he traveled. I got one letter after he left, then nothing. He never would have stopped writing unless something terrible happened to him."

The little rat fell silent and thankfully asked no more questions.


	50. Hidden Talents

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Hidden Talents**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

As she sat in her bamboo cage at the bottom of the cold, hopeless pit, Crue regretted many of the things that had happened in the last day.

She'd been unable to aid the wounded Chak, instead having to keep her distance as the mongooses carried him back to the village. More so, she regretted having to question whether or not he actually wanted to heal the slavedriver in the first place. It was one thing to take the life of a mongoose in an act of self-preservation, but to even consider standing idly by while a beast slipped out of this world and into the next went against her very nature.

She'd been unable to tell Robert much about her brief sighting of Scully in the jungle. The "monkoozers" had kept talking to a minimum on their way to their village, though Tooley did mention that he had not sighted the hare.

She had been overjoyed to see more of her fellow woodlanders show up, even if they were all imprisoned. She had been lowered into a cage with a hare in a dilapidated uniform by the name of Twilbee, and with the next influx of captives she discovered that a half dozen others had survived as well, including Colonel Swiftpaw. He was surviving, but had barely recovered from the events aboard the corsair vessel. She wished she could climb over to check on him, but every time she reached the top of her cage, the fear of being caught kept her in check.

She had heard the shouts as Reedox raged against Chak. When the altercation abruptly stopped, Crue could not see what had ended it and Rob refused to enlighten her. The mongooses had done nothing to stop the fight, obviously not caring if they killed each other in their cages, and she regretted having been unable to do more to stop it.

Scattered in among her regrets, she reminded herself that hope was not lost. She would continue to help the beasts in this pit, even the vixen and ferret who shared a cell next to her with the former Lieutenant Wrightbones. At this point she would even help the traitorous Scully. If fate was kind, she might even save them.

The longer she dwelled on the notion of saving her fellow prisoners, the more she felt she needed to act, regardless of her present fears. She chewed her lip nervously and glanced at Rob, who sat in the cell to her left. She drew close, keeping her voice low, "If I climb to the top and discover a path out of the village, would you get everyone out?"

Rob looked up toward the top of the pit. "Tha's a bit of a tall order, Miss Crue. Those beasts be a bit swift fer some of us."

Crue glanced around at the beasts that were in her visual range, wondering which ones would stand a chance of actually making it out of the village. "I cain't argue with that, but even if a few make it out, that'd be a few who wouldn' be sent to this Fire God they keep goin' on about."

Robert nodded as he followed her logic. "Aye, that be true." He shrugged his shoulders as he continued, "An' these beasts seem more inclined t' save us for their god. They might not kill us fer tryin t' escape."

"I agree." She put her paws on her hips and looked up toward the top of the pit as her mind started forming the bare bones of an actual plan. "I'll find a way out, Mister Rosequill."

* * *

Crue's eyes cast about for a path out of the village, a difficult task in the quickly fading light. She turned her head to the left when she noticed four male mongoose pups casually sauntering over to the hut outside of which sat the offerings for the Fire God: weapons, bits off of the Waverunner's uniforms, a rather sizable red gem, one of Crue's silver buttons, and even Tooley's hat. Crue watched curiously as they gazed around at everything but the offerings, scuffing their feet in the dirt, and even humming softly before one of them reached down and grabbed an item from the pile. With a gasp, she realized that it was one of Scully's arrows, the arrowhead briefly reflecting nearby torchlight back into Crue's eyes as they ran off with it.

Had it been a grown beast, Crue might have simply let him go about his business and discover the poison for himself. The children, however, could not be aware of the danger that simple object had put them in. She pulled herself the rest of the way out of the pit and began to run after the pups. "Stop!" she cried out. "Come back!"

Her cries brought her a great deal of attention, and before she knew it a dozen beasts had sprung out of their dens and she was being restrained by numerous paws. They spoke in their strange accented dialect, wondering how she made it out of the pit, but before they could begin to haul her back she pleaded, "Your children took something _dangerous_! It can _kill_ them if _mmhmpf_ -"

A paw roughly clamped her mouth shut. She stared up at the beast, willing him to hear her warning thoughts.

They held her there for a short time, but eventually the four pups were brought back, their young leader still carrying the arrow. He wore a chagrined expression and stated, "Vy you not let me tek teeny spear, papi? Te Fiyah Gott no needuh it.""

"You not speak fer te Fiyah Gott, Kodeh!" the elder mongoose stated. "Keefts fer _heem_!"

"Tis is veak keeft!" To punctuate his outburst, he playfully stabbed in the direction of one of his cohorts. He didn't count on actually hitting his friend, nor did he realize just how sharp the tip was, and elicited a cry of pain from the pup.

Before the shock of injuring his friend could set in, the adult snatched the arrow from his grasp and shoved the young upstart to the ground, baring his fangs and hissing in anger. His tan fur stood on end, making the tall beast even larger.

Crue's focus remained on the injured youth. Biting the hand of the mongoose who held her, she shouted out in the brief moment he released his hold.. "He will die if I don't help him!"

"Tek teeny beastah back t' pit, Eshki," one mongoose commanded, addressing the one who held her.

"He was poisoned! He will die!" Tears leaked from her eyes as she realized that there was practically nothing she could do to convince them of the truth.

Eshki laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that Crue felt in her bones. "Monkoozers not die by venom, ayah! No snekk ken kill us, fool beastah."

Her mind worked quickly to try and find a means to reason with them, but before she knew what she was saying, the words left her mouth. "I have _seen_ his death! A... snake from a far away land will take your child from you!"

The grips on her limbs softened ever so slightly. The villagers now looked at her curiously. "How you see tis?"

She paused, her words failing her. She stared off into the distance as she searched for something to say. "I... I... had a dream last night! A... snake changed its form and became a spear, and when two children came by, it bit one of them. The child fell asleep and nothing the other child could do would wake him."

Most of the eyes that met her's were still skeptical. "Smell the spear and you will see!" It took some effort not to add "idiots."

The one who held the arrow lifted it and sniffed, its nose wrinkling in distaste. He looked back in her direction. "Is surika, ayah! It holdah strenge venom." She nodded and his face fell. He looked back at the youth who was holding a paw over the wound on his right arm, and the pup began to mirror his senior's look of concern.

"I can heal him," Crue declared.

The elder mongoose walked over to her and signaled for the others to release her. She stood up and looked him in the eye. "You bringah new snekk een our midst," he stated. "If te pickapik grow sick, how weel you heelah him?"

Crue hadn't quite planned that far. She thought back to the way one would cure hemlock poisoning in Mossflower and she looked down at her soiled apron. She pulled out a pawful of the squashed fruit and held them up. "I need more of these."

As a few of the villagers were sent out to bring them, she sneaked a quick glance back toward the pit where her friends and fellow prisoners were still being held. She knew that eventually they would be taken away from here, but if Crue were to provide an effective enough distraction, Robert or one of the other prisoners might see the opportunity for them to escape. She only hoped they'd take it.

She would have a couple of hours before the effects of the hemlock was irreversible. In order to buy time, Crue would have to be more than just a healer. She would have to get the whole village involved, and that meant getting creative...

She stifled a groan.

* * *

 _"You must engage all the senses! You can't simply offer them bad tasting medicine or strong-scented vapors to breathe. They must be able to touch and see and hear to experience the whole healing. They need to_ believe _in the cure."_

 _"You don't need all that! It just wastes time and you end up giving them the same medicine you were going to anyway."_

 _He stopped polishing his boots just long enough to nod and shrug. "That's true, my dear, but that approach is so impersonal. It lacks the gravitas that makes the patient feel like you're truly attending to them personally. Anyone else watching must also trust that you're taking the matter seriously."_

 _Crue scoffed, her paws toying with the fur at the top of the other squirrel's head. "You can't gain trust through a show, love. As I continue to make people well, my reputation will garner their trust."_

 _"Can't gain trust through a show, eh?" He turned and swept up the young squirrel into his arms. He spun three times, just enough to get them slightly dizzy, before he leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek. His dark eyes stared deeply into her own. "It worked on you."_

* * *

Crue sat before the fire, paws pressed together before her chest and head bowed. Her ears twitched ever so slightly, causing the two bright green feathers on her head to twitch as well. The red cloak she now wore rustled in the soft breeze that passed through the village. Bone bracelets sat quietly on her wrists, waiting to clatter. Her tail was wrapped with cords of brown, blue, and yellow, and a rattle of tiny shells had been attached to the end. A necklace of stones and small bird skulls ringed her neck, and Tooley's tattered hat completed the ensemble.

She'd taken over an hour to make sure everything was properly prepared, sneaking glances in the direction of her unseen friends whenever she could, hoping that any minute now they'd start to make their way out. Now, under the cover of a large meeting hall lit by carefully placed torches, she waited for the small fire to grow to the proper height for her task. A crowd of about thirty mongooses attended the ceremony, with the now obviously ill mongoose and his parents sitting on a woven mat to provide some comfort for their son as they waited.

Once she was satisfied with the fire, she held a bowl of smoking leaves around the hall with one paw, and carried a cooking pot by its handle with the other. She worked quickly to collect the pits from each of the attendant mongooses, having them spit into the pot while she waved the smoke before their faces, the sweet scent filling the air before them. She collected the first round and returned to the fire for the second bowl of leaves. Once it began smoking, she repeated the process until she was certain that she had an adequate number of pits to work with. She carefully set the second bowl down on the ground, put the pits onto the fire, and began.

She slowly stirred once, then twitched her tail to rattle the shells.

She stirred again, and twitched her tail to rattle the shells. A small trail of smoke began to lift out of the pot.

She stirred again, and twitched her tail to rattle the shells. The crowd joined in with their own rattles and drums, diligently following the rhythm she set. Raising her voice, she began to sing her song at a slow, even pace.

"Stir the pot, simmer slow,  
Watch now how its contents glow!

Cook the seeds, roast the pits,  
Broken body the Healer knits.

Ha-la-la-do, Ha-la-la-de,  
In dreams of mine your futures be.

Breathe the smoke, dull the pain,  
Soon you'll feel yourself again.

Purge the poison, make you sweat,  
Heed the healer, feel no regret.

Ha-la-la-do, ha-la-la-de,  
Trust my song and trust in me.

Courage child, have no fear,  
The time of healing is drawing near.

I will not fail, you will not fall,  
And you will come back to us all!

Ha-la-la-do, ha-la-la-de,  
Come closer, all, to taste and see."

As if on cue, the contents of the cooking pot let out a loud crack, and then another, and then another. Looking into the pot, she saw that the pits were now turning black and slightly oily. She wondered if that was normal, but it was too late to go back now. She continued to stir and shake the rattles, moving around the pot with her free paw outstretched dramatically, shaking whenever more popping took place.

When she was satisfied that the pits were sufficiently dry, she called for silence and began to smash the pits with a stone pestle. All of the mongooses were leaning forward, watching curiously. More smoke continued to flow out of the pot and she figured that she was nearly finished. In the heat of the cook-fire she wiped away a bead of paint-filled sweat before it entered her eye, making sure it didn't fall into the pot.

She crushed and stirred, crushed and stirred, making sure she didn't miss any of the pits. Once she was satisfied with the consistency she struck the side of the metal pot with her pestle three times, letting the last peal ring out into the air. Once the crackling within the pot returned as the prominent sound, she motioned for the water to be brought forth.

A great plume of steam rushed out of the pot as the cool water slowly met the hot stone. The scent of the cooked pits followed the steam up and out, dispersing amongst the crowd who inquisitively sniffed the air. Crue found the smell to be more pleasant than she was anticipating. Waiting for the drink to brew, she had time to appreciate the scent, finding it both enlivening and comforting much like a colorful sunrise after a good night's sleep.

Once the water was boiling and had turned nearly black, she decided that the mixture was done. She took an empty bowl and scooped up some of the liquid before she peered over at the young mongoose. He was struggling a little to keep his eyes open. Her heart going out to the youth, she looked down at the bowl in her paws and felt a brief moment of doubt. She was fairly certain this would work, but she had no way to be sure.

She lifted the bowl into the air, careful not to spill any as the bone bracelets traveled up her arms. Looking up, she was struck with the memory of another healer doing the same thing. This one had worn a shirt with long black sleeves, falling back to expose the mouse's wrists as he held the glass bowl toward the light. Crue, too, had not known if this mixture of herbs would be the key to curing Ellie Sarish, but the mouse had hope. A small, hopeful smile crossed his lips as he approached the young squirrel who lay in bed, her eyes flickering in an attempt to stay awake. One more medicine for her sister to try. Perhaps this would finally be the one…

She blinked a few times to clear the image. _No!_ she told herself. _This is not the same…_ Her footpaws took her in the direction of her patient. _This_ is _going to work!_

When she was halfway to the youth, she stopped and lifted the bowl near her lips to see if it had cooled enough to drink. She gave the bowl just enough of a stir in her paws to try and make it cool down a little faster before she took a sip. A very dark and bitter flavor struck her tongue, but she kept her expression neutral. When she was next to the young mongoose, she helped him take a sip and watched as he cringed at the foul taste.

"Eugh!" he complained. "Eet like dirt!"

"It will scare off the venom," she explained, though she inwardly grumbled at such a superstitious explanation. "Drink the whole thing."

The youth complied and polished off the drink as quickly as the heat would let him. Once he finished, the healer took the bowl from his paws and set it aside. She took his paws in her own and helped him rise. Once he was standing, she led him back to her cook-fire and set about having him walk near the heat, making small circles to get his blood flowing so that the medicine would kick in a little faster.

Before long, he was holding his head a little higher and some of the life returned to his eyes. She smiled as the medicine continued to take hold. Motioning for the pup to stay where he was, she returned to the cooking pot - her accoutrements rustling noisily as she stepped - and administered a second dose. After that round had been consumed they continued walking slowly around the fire.

Once she felt comfortable that the concoction was doing its work, she stopped their walk and turned him so that he faced her. She examined his eyes and nose and mouth and then proceeded to remove the bandage on his arm. She used some of the water to wash off the charcoal and was glad to see that some of the redness had already subsided, though it was far from being completely healed. A large grin crossed her face, made even larger by the white paint that accented her mouth.

"He has been healed!" she proclaimed, raising her paws triumphantly into the air.

She brought Drehm back to his parents, who had been watching the whole spectacle with bated breath. Presenting their son to them, she announced, "He will need to drink more of that medicine later, but he will be fine."

They stepped forward and looked their son over, obviously surprised by his quick recovery. "How you feel, Drehm?"

"Kood, papi! Arm still hurts, ayah, but not so bad."

They examined the wound, and once they were satisfied that their son was truly on the mend, the father stood before Crue and put his large paws on her shoulders, the strength behind this gesture nearly making her take a step back. He then proceeded to shout for all to hear, "I Dekeft, First Atilak 'mong monkoozers! I say tis beastah hes sehved mi son! He owe life debt to you. Me an' mi munga owe debt, too."

She was about to correct them, to say that their gratitude was the only reward she required, but now was not the time to be altruistic. "You are most welcome."

Drehm stepped closer to his parents, his paws shaking slightly from the medicine, but not enough to worry her. Speaking more quietly, he stated, "Ef she be given to te Fiyah Gott, how I pey debt?"

Dekeft let his claws lightly brush his chin as he thought. After a minute of silence, he stood up and addressed the crowd. "Need speakuh vit High Priest, ayah!"

Another minute passed and a tall, slightly hunched figure began making his way through the throng. Crue first noticed the tall white staff he carried, a viper skull affixed to the top. His robes were red with vertical lines of black, but this hood and the hem of his robes were made from golden snake skin. He wore three rows of necklaces: one of gems, one of bones, and one of snake fangs. His narrow gaze swept over the crowd - carefully avoiding looking at the squirrel - and then came to rest on Dekeft.

"Vat needing te attention of Shuga?" the High Priest asked, though his demeanor conveyed that he knew full well what was going on.

Dekeft stood before the High Priest, bowing his head in respect. "Te life ef tis beastah need speered, Shuga. She heal mi son en he can not repay debt if she go t' mounteen."

Shuga's squinty eyes flitted between the First Hunter and the healer. He stood in thought for a short while before he stated, "I ask te Fiayh Gott to speer tis beastah."

Dekeft nodded, satisfied with the answer. "I and mi munga te show her favah until you seek te Fiyah Gott." He looked down at Crue and stated, "Our next meal will honor you."

The High Priest opened his mouth, but then shut it just as quickly. "No, ayah! She hev next meal en _mi_ den..." His eyes stared into Crue's own and she had the feeling that he was calculating his next moves very carefully. This was a beast of both intelligence and ambition. "She stay vith me. I… honor her wit you."

Crue found herself ushered into the den of the High Priest shortly thereafter. Not only did they share a meal and speak of the Fire God and his favor of the mongoose tribe, but she was given a room in which she would be staying from that point on. When Shuga spoke to her, it was as one would speak to a pet that one found amusing, leaving her to assume that she had just become as much a captive as her cohorts in the pit. Despite her diversion, no attempt at escape had been made and she was sure that none of them would be getting away now.


	51. Double Take

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Double Take**

 _By: Tooley_

* * *

Tooley hit the ground with a grunt. Ignoring the heavy pull of his muscles, he shoved his paws beneath himself and hopped once more to his feet. He'd lost count of how many times he'd tried and failed to climb the cell bars, but it didn't matter. He had to keep going.

A shuffling above drew his attention. A throng of strange-eyed, half-naked beasts hovered at the edge of the pit, chattering and motioning down at Tooley. Several of the smaller Strange-Eyes lobbed some small stones into the pit, but were quickly reprimanded by the larger ones around them.

He blinked at them. Had they been there all this time? He touched a paw to where his hat should be, but found only sweaty, coarse fur. He was already forgetting things. He suppressed a shiver and tried to shake off the feeling that the Strange-Eyes weren't the only things he'd forgotten.

He looked at the bamboo poles, and at the otter leaning back against the wall just beyond them. This much he could remember, and he wouldn't let himself forget.

 _Chak killed Daggle. Chak ain't a good beast. Chak needs t' pay for what 'e done._

As he repeated the words in his head over and over, Tooley gritted his teeth and started towards the bars. His walk turned to a run, and soon he was sprinting. He leapt at the bars, paws and feet grappling at the slick bamboo for a hold. He managed to claw his way up several lengths before his paw slipped, and suddenly he was falling.

Tooley had enough time to suck in a lungful of air before he once more slammed into the rough dirt. He wheezed out the breath he was holding, grimacing at the sting running down his back.

As soon as the pain turned to throbbing, he rolled over and set about pushing himself up again. Dirt dug into paws that had been rubbed raw hours ago, and his arms began to tremble. He bared his teeth and pushed harder.

Finally he managed to prop himself up onto his knees. He took a moment to steady himself, shutting his eyes from a sudden wave of nausea that threatened to send him face first back to the ground.

"Give it a rest, lad," a voice muttered. "You're pushin' yourself too hard."

Tooley cracked open an eye at the corner of the cell. A hedgehog was slumped there, wearing the tattered remains of a Waverunner uniform. He'd been thrown into the pit along with several other beasts, though that was some time ago. Whether it had been hours or days, Tooley couldn't remember.

The hedgehog reminded Tooley of Robert. They looked similar, even sounded somewhat similar, but the eyes were wrong. When Robert looked at Tooley, there was a genuine concern there. It was comforting and soft. It reminded Tooley of something, though he couldn't put a claw quite on it. The way this hedgehog regarded Tooley, however, bespoke only a weariness and carefully restrained irritation.

"'M fine," Tooley muttered, turning away from the hedgehog. Locking his gaze onto Chak, he tried to push himself back up onto his feet. Halfway up, something in his leg pulled painfully inward, and he collapsed back onto his knees.

"Oh, would you stop already?" At first, Tooley thought this was the hedgehog, but the voice wasn't right. It was grittier, and had none of the imposed kindness that the hedgehog's did.

Tooley turned around. A squirrel was hunkered down in the opposite cell adjacent to Tooley's. Tooley recognized him as Chak's surviving slave, though the squirrel's name escape him. From the stern look directed Tooley's way, the slave didn't seem keen on sharing.

Tooley moved to look away and ignore the slave, but a question in his mind kept his gaze on the squirrel.

"Why stop...?" he asked, more to himself than to the squirrel.

The slave scoffed. "Because I can't get any sleep while you jump around like a dibbun?"

"Ye 'ad 'im right there in front o' ye," Tooley continued, louder this time. "Coulda fixed everythin', an' ye stopped."

Realization crossed the squirrel's face briefly, then he flashed Tooley a strange look. "What's it matter to you?"

"'E deserves every lashin' 'e could get. 'E ain't a good beast, an'... an' I don' unnerstan'!"

"You think I don't know that?" The squirrel huffed and folded his arms tightly to his chest. "We're about to be led to our deaths, or who knows where. Just felt like it, I suppose, okay? There's your answer."

"No!" Tooley shook his head hard. "That ain't a good 'nough answer! I need t' know!"

Tooley half-expected the squirrel to snap back with some comment, but he was still. For a long time, he just stared at the ground. Eventually, he spoke up, his voice hushed and careful, "I guess... it was something Nimbleton said."

"What'd 'e say?" Tooley asked, catching his breath as an answer seemed to be near.

The squirrel chewed at his lip before continuing, "Somethin' about how I was acting like Chak was this evil beast, but that there was more to him than just what I saw. I thought the mouse had gone soft, but... those scars..." His eyes flicked up briefly to glance past Tooley. A storm of emotions crossed the beast's face and he bared his teeth. "I _hate_ him. I hate him so much... but... but to think that, at one point, he could have been just like Atcus, or Tawney, or Podge... or me. That a long time ago, he was one of us..." The squirrel drew in a long breath and ran a paw over the unkempt fur on his forehead. "I guess Nimbleton was right, in a way..."

Tooley felt his gaze trailing back to look at Chak. He'd seen the scars. He didn't know beasts could have that many scars, and that deep. He shook his head and focused back on the squirrel. "But... but that don' matter! 'E killed Daggle an'... an' 'es gotta pay fer it!"

The squirrel sighed. "Killin' for killin' for killin'..."

Tooley furrowed his brow. "What's that surposed t' mean?"

"Y'know, Daggle weren't no saint. Only reason Chak killed him is 'cause of what that rat did to us." The squirrel chuckled dryly. "So I guess, really, you're no better than Chak, are you?"

Tooley blinked at the slave. Fiery, loud objections rumbled in his chest, but they died in his throat as soon as he tried to voice them. That wasn't true, was it? Before he had the chance to think through the squirrel's words, a loud banging crashed out above the pit.

Tooley looked up to see that the Strange-Eyes were scurrying around the edge of the pit. Many ran off, but most stayed behind and began to hop and jitter in wild motions, their loose necklaces and odd bracelets making hollow, jangling sounds. A line of the beasts crossed over a small bridge suspended over the pit, then quickly scattered to the various cells.

A spool of rope was tossed down just several feet from Tooley. He looked to see another thrown into the squirrel slave's cell, and heard a third land in Chak's. Tooley scurried back and failed to suppress a shiver as he saw one of the beasts descending down into the cell. Another loud bang rang out.

They were coming to gather them. He didn't know why, but he'd seen enough of the beasts to know it probably wasn't good. He glanced over to his hedgehog cellmate, who had shifted up from his sitting position, and seemed prepared to fight.

Something suddenly grabbed at Tooley's wrists, and he turned to find a pair of piercing, brown eyes staring straight at him.

"You do tis?" came a heavily accented voice.

Tooley nodded automatically.

The beast clacked his tongue, a strange, aggravated sound. He whipped out a strip of leather from a cord tied at his waist and yanked up Tooley's paws. In lightning-quick movements, the beast tied Tooley's paws together and pulled the strip into a final, taut knot.

"Lessee you makkee oudda tis, ayah!" the beast announced with a toothy grin, then he tugged roughly at Tooley's arm. "Onna your feet! Going t' da Fiyah Kodd!"

Before Tooley could ask what a "Fiyah Kodd" was, he was lifted onto his feet and shoved forward. Quick as before, the beast gathered up the rope and tied it around Tooley's chest.

"Back for you, spikeback!" the beast said, directing his grin back at the hedgehog in the cell before making a sharp whistling noise.

Tooley felt the rope suddenly pull. He scampered along on his tiptoes before another tug came and yanked him up against the dirt wall. The banging outside of the pit began again, this time with a ferocious intensity. Slowly, Tooley was dragged up and along the wall. He struggled to breathe. The rope felt like a noose around his chest. Finally, he was pulled out of the pit and dragged forward, where he gasped in a long breath of air.

A pair of paws were grappling at him and he felt himself being hoisted to his feet again. Another one of the Strange-Eyes loosed the rope from his chest and threw it back into the pit before pushing Tooley forward.

It was dark. The moon was out, half-obscured under a thick, heavy cloud. A thunderclap struck out in the distance, and Tooley shuddered. Pirates spoke often of weather omens. This was bad sailing weather, and it didn't seem any better on land.

As Tooley was led across the small bridge, he first took note of the Strange-Eyes gathered around the outer ring of the prisoner pit. There were dozens of them. Most were clustered near some sort of crude drum, which was nothing more than a large, circular piece of wood with a tanned skin stretched tautly over it. One beast in particular - fur painted shades of red - smashed a cudgel against the drum. Each time the drum was struck, the Strange-Eyes jittered with energy, dancing around with wild, uneven movements.

Tooley looked away from them as he stepped off the bridge. Behind him, he could see that several other beasts from the cells had already been taken out. Chak's slave, several hares, and Robert had all been lifted out. Robert was shouting for the squirrel to stop struggling, though it seemed like the three beasts around the slave had him well under control despite his efforts. Tooley caught sight of something orange being hefted out of the back of the prison, which he soon recognized as a fox. A big smile crossed his face. It was Vera. She had survived the sinking of the _Maiden_ as well!

His smile faltered as a bang was struck into the night and his eyes locked on another beast.

Chak.

The others were being led across the bridge, now, and the beast that had brought Tooley had let go of him. He glanced at the beast, who had a short dagger stuck through the cord at his side. It was dull, but it'd be sharp enough.

Tooley felt his breathing hasten. His paws were tied, but his feet were free. No one was paying him any attention.

He looked back at the bridge. Robert and the squirrel were the last ones being led off, with the squirrel hollering out various curses at the tribal beasts. They were crossing the threshold now. If he wanted to get to Chak without enough beasts around to stop him, it was now.

 _You're no better than Chak, are you?_

Tooley could hear himself breathing now, practically gasping. His eyes flicked between Chak and the dagger. He shook his head hard and sucked in a deep breath.

This wasn't a time to think. It was a time to act. Daggle must have said something like that before. He couldn't remember, but it sounded right.

Tooley took a step towards the beast, bound paws reaching out for the blade.

 _Thwop!_

Tooley winced as something was slapped on top of his head. He curled instinctively, expecting pain to follow, but nothing came.

"You can thank me later," came a whisper.

Tooley glanced up to see the oddest squirrel standing beside him. Or, at least, he assumed there was a squirrel underneath all the feather, shell, and bone ornaments smothering the beast. The squirrel smiled brightly at him, an almost unsettling gesture with the way the white paint near her lips curled, but there was a softness to her eyes that he recognized. Squinting, he leaned closer to the squirrel.

"Miss Crue?"

Crue nodded before casting several wary glances over her shoulder. "I can't stay. Look, I don't know what's going on, but I'll do whatever I can to help." She turned back to him and gripped his shoulder. "We're all in this together now."

Tooley bit his lip, resisting the urge to look at Chak. Slowly, he nodded. "A-aye. All in this together."

Crue patted his shoulder then darted away. The beasts around offered her suspicious glances, but no one stepped out to stop her. Tooley wondered why they didn't. Maybe they knew how nice she was as well.

Something itched at his head, and he reached up to scratch. His paw met the familiar feeling of rough fabric, and Tooley's eyes widened. He looked back up to try and find Crue, but she'd already disappeared into the crowd of beasts. He blinked back tears, feeling a sudden wave of guilt wash over him. Suddenly, the only thing that mattered was whether or not Crue had known what he was planning on doing.

 _I ain't like Chak. I ain't a bad beast._

Another bang on the drum rang out, and he found that he couldn't shake those thoughts. A loud roar, however, did bring his attention back to the prison pit. A dozen of the Strange-Eyes were gathered around the pit placed within the inner circle, each with a rope grasped in their paws. The drum banged again, and they began to heave. Another roar bellowed out from the pit. Whatever they were pulling out, it was big, and very, very angry.

Soon, the head of something black and white appeared. The drum began to pound rapidly, and cheers from the beasts rose up.

Tooley gasped. It was the Waverunner captain. The massive beast who had just days before cut down swaths of corsairs upon the _Silver Maiden._ He was missing his armor, wearing tattered clothes that just barely managed to cover him, but his face was stretched in a wild, vicious expression. And for the first time, Tooley saw his eye. A red swirl of anger that seemed to shimmer even in the darkness. He snapped at one of the beasts pulling him up, who dodged deftly to the side, prompting the Waverunner captain to let out a furious snarl.

Tooley took a step back, even though the beast was at least a stone's throw away. This was someone he never, ever wanted to be near.

The captain was led - more shoved - across the bridge, which was tiny in comparison. The Strange-Eyes whooped and hollered more loudly than they ever had.

"Fiyah Kodd! Fiyah Kodd!" rose a cheer from the crowd.

The red eye of the beast scanned everyone around, stopping only for the briefest moment on Tooley. It was enough to cause the weasel to turn, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

The Strange-Eyes were pulling the last of the beasts out from the pits. Tooley caught sight of Plink, who was saying something to a young hare beside her. He remembered Crue asking about a hare. Maybe this was the one. Briefly, he looked for Vasily, curious if any other crew members from the _Maiden_ had survived, and that's when he saw her.

The captain. A massive smile began to work its way across his face. He drew in a breath to shout out for her, but hesitated. The image of her standing above him with a cutlass raised flashed through his mind. His smile faded, and he watched Ciera stride evenly forward, head held high. Despite both missing her captain's coat and having her paws bound, she looked as much in authority here as she did upon the _Maiden_.

She was the last to be led across the bridge. As she was placed in the circle of captives, her eyes focused on one beast.

"So, Chak, I heard tell that you murdered Mister Daggle."

"Arrr..." Chak grunted, nodding slowly.

"Would you mind explaining why?"

"'E wasted a lot o' resources, that 'un." Chak paused, then added, "'E were in derelec-shun' o' 'is duties, an' it cost us a 'ole crew o' what coulda been vury useful workbeasts."

Ciera regarded the otter coolly. Tooley had to smile. He'd seen her give that look to other pirates before. She never believed them, either.

"Or more likely they'd have been a liability, outnumbering and turning against us."

Chak's lip twitched, and he stood a little straighter. "Ye be doubtin' me ability ta keep me own slaves in check? Yarrr, cap'n, 'ave some faith."

"Such a punishment was not your decision to make, though. Those were _my_ slaves, technically."

Tooley watched as Chak seemed to consider this for a moment, glancing at his remaining slave who was busy jerking away from the prodding touch of the beasts around him. The otter sighed and nodded. "Aye. Yer right. Mayhaps I shoulda waited til we found ye."

A great round of strikes rang out from the drum, this time almost musical sounding. The dancing and chattering instantly died down, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the group.

"We'll discuss this later," Ciera said and turned around. Her gaze rested on Tooley briefly, and she dipped her snout. "Mister Bostay. I see you're well."

Tooley beamed. His doubt from before seemed to wash away at once. She wasn't mad at him. "I am now, cap'n!"

Ciera looked away, focusing on the crowd of Strange-Eyes that encircled them. A low hum began to spread out among the crowd. Slowly, it turned into an almost gasping drone. Tooley saw several of the beasts begin to shake, the bone accessories they wore beginning to rattle. The drone grew in noise, and then turned into a heavy, repetitious beat of variously pitched voices.

The crowd began to move, collapsing in on the captives and forcing them into a tight circle.

"What're they doin'?" Tooley heard Plink ask, a tremble in her voice.

"Stick together!" Robert said, holding his paws out to shield as many as he could from the approaching beasts.

For a moment, Tooley thought they would draw their assortment of weapons and attack. Instead, they began to move as one, forcing the group of captives forward.

"I think they're leadin' us somewhere..." the young hare beside Plink muttered worriedly.

The pace was slow, but the group was so cramped that Tooley could smell the hot breath of the beasts all around him, and nearly tripped several times on the footpaws of the other captives.

As the group moved further and further, the sounds of the beasts began to shift into words.

"Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah," they sang in a dull tone.

Over the shoulders of the beasts, he saw that they were nearing a cliffside, where he could hear the crash of ocean waves humming steadily below. At the cliffside were two tall torches, tops alight with steadily wavering flames. In-between the torches was a large, rope bridge.

Tooley's gaze followed the bridge. It was easily thrice as long as the _Maiden_ was, stem to stern. His eyes trailed across the bridge, then upwards. And upwards. A massive mountain rested on the other side of the bridge, haloed by the dim moonlight above. He recognized it from when Maurick had captured him and Plink.

" _Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah,_ " the beasts continued to sing, the rhythm speeding up the closer they got to the mountain.

As soon as they reached the edge, the Strange-Eyes stopped, though their chant continued. Tooley looked around at the group of captives.

"W-what's a fy-yah-codder?" he asked.

"Fire God," Ciera said. "They're taking us to be sacrificed."

Tooley gulped and looked back at the mountain. Was that where the fire god lived? He wondered what a god looked like. He pictured a massive beast, not unlike the Waverunner captain, but on fire.

Suddenly, the throng of Strange-Eyes began to shift. They moved until an opening to the rope bridge appeared, then they began to push inwards towards the bridge. The only place to move was forward, and Tooley found that he was steadily approaching the bridge. He grasped the rope supports on either end and stared down through the cracks between the planks of wood. The hum of the sea was practically a roar when standing at the edge.

" _Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah!_ " the beasts shouted out.

Tooley looked back at the captain. She nodded at him, and he smiled, turning back to the bridge and taking his first step onto it.

The captain was alive. She was here. He didn't have to be strong anymore. He didn't have to struggle with those hard choices. She'd fix it all, and everything would turn out right.

After all, what was a fire god to a captain?


	52. No Man is an Island

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **No Man is an Island**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

The rope bridge creaked as it swung loosely beneath Robert's footpaws. He and the other captive beasts were being led by a single savage each, firmly guiding the beasts with a short leather strap binding their paws. The bindings made the hedgehog struggle to keep his balance on the teetering bridge and he stumbled every so often, sending a tearing pain through his chest wound. Every stumble also reminded him of the threatening rock spires lying far below the bridge. Robert wasn't the only beast struggling, however. Directly in front of him, Twilbee, the young hare who was friends with Fildering on the _Zephyr_ , another hare Robert started to worry he'd never see again. Twilbee was letting anxiety get the best of him as he tripped constantly, causing his captor to stumble as well. The frustrated mongoose boxed the hare's ears.

"Stop eet, o I trow you ovuh!" The savage hissed. Twilbee jumped in fright, shuddering the bridge even more, earning himself another box to the ears. "Ayah! I no lie, beastie!"

"Ain't nothin' to worry about there, Twilbee," Robert mumbled. "We're almost off'n this blasted bridge."

"Quieet, Preeckledog!" Robert was rewarded with a blow to the head from his own captive. After the stars left his eyes, he saw the mongoose grin evilly to Twilbee's captor. "Let dem struggle. Shuga do worse, ayah!"

Twilbee managed to pull himself together the rest of the way, and flashed the hedgehog a smile of gratitude. Robert somberly nodded back before being wrenched forward once more by his guard. Once he stepped off the bridge himself, Robert noticed the ground was ugly gray stone, with nothing to remind them of the jungles he left behind. In the distance, an enormous mountain loomed, its intimidating size rivaling that of Salamandastron itself.

Robert and the others were being corralled towards a large crowd of mongooses a few dozen feet away. There were males, females, and even children, all looking on with disturbing anticipation gleaming in their eyes. Robert became the anxious one now. He breathed heavily, his eyes darting between random onlookers only to find their stares increasingly more discomforting.

The savages pulled their captives one last time towards a set of small stone columns protruding from the ground, where they forced them to their knees to have their paws chained to the pillars behind Robert was chained to the column, he looked to see the other beasts still struggling with the mongooses. The fox who spoke to him earlier was shouting, while a nearby ferret shouted at her. Chak was struggling with his own captor, as was Reedox. Atlas roared and fought, but strong as he was he was still brought to his knees by the mongoose warriors. Robert, however, simply let himself be chained up.

Tied next to him was Crue. The squirrelmaid looked just as restless as Robert, nervously glancing at him every few seconds.

"We'll be okay, Miss Crue," Robert muttered. "They're jus' showin' us off. We'll be back to that pit soon enough."

"Mister Rosequill, I don't think this is an exhibition," Crue breathed, "I think this is a-"

"Don' worry, Miss Crue," Robert replied, muttering once more. "they're just havin' their fun."

"How can you be so sure?" Crue stammered.

"Well I'm. . ." Robert began, then stopped. The mongooses were shouting, and wood and twigs were being thrown into a pile at the top of what looked to be some kind of altar set in the middle of the wild crowd. The hedgehog looked over to the squirellmaid, wincing once he saw the fearful longing for an answer. "I'm not. I'm not sure. I don' know at all, Miss Crue, I jus'. . .I don' know." Robert choked, feeling a single tear roll down his cheek. Crue's eyes widened in shock. "I'm sorry, Miss Crue. This's all me fault. Chak was right, we should have stayed at the beach. . ."

Robert thought of his daughter, and her songs, and how she would always hold her eyes shut while she concentrated. And never once did Maribel see her father's smile as she sang, nor did she see the proud looks that passed between him and Violet with every soft note that reached their ears. Robert wondered if he would ever hear another one of them.

Robert felt the tears welling in his eyes, spilling over and flowing down his cheeks.. The hedgehog choked on them as he pressed his head to the cold stone under his knees.

"Robert. . ." Crue's soft voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He glanced over to the squirrelmaid, concern mixed with fear on her face.

"I'm sorry, Miss Crue," Robert stammered, regaining his composure. "I don' know what came over me, I'm. . ."

"It's okay, Robert." Crue smiled warmly, a few tears of her own sliding down her face. "We'll get through this."

The mongooses parted, making way for a procession of new beasts. These were dressed differently from Robert's captors. They wore much more than the others, snakeskin wrapped around their torsos and bones fashioned into ugly jewelry on their arms, legs and necks. All of them had strange markings drawn with a dark paint all over their faces. These mongooses danced crazily, with their wild eyes leering at the captive woodlanders as they jumped and twisted about.

"Shuga!" the crowd chanted. "Shuga Shuga Shugaa!"

Several dozen of these crazed beasts paraded in, crying out and whirling about until at the tail end of the procession came the most gaudily dressed savage of them all. This showy mongoose wore robes made of snakeskin, and dozens of fanged bracelets and necklaces littered his body. He walked with a slight hunch to him, and he held onto a staff with a small snake skull at the top. This garish beast narrowed his gaze at the woodlanders. A slight sneer spread across his lips as he looked at Robert.

The beast raised a paw. Silence swept across the crowd of savages as the older mongoose raised his other paw and shook them both.

"High Priest Shuga ees heeyah!" the elder shouted. "Shuga ees pleased by keefts broughta heem!" The mongoose motioned towards the captive beasts. "Shuga knows not what to do vit keefts, toh."

The crowd cheered once more, jumping and pounding at the ground with their footpaws.

"Should Shuga keev keefts to Fiyah Gott?"

"Fiyah Gott!" the crowd chanted. "Fiyah Gott! Fiyah Gott!"

"Shuga keev to Fiyah Gott?" Shuga asked, and the crowd screamed. "Keev vot to Fiyah Gott?"

"Preeckledog! Preeckledog!"

Shuga sneered, and pointed to Addai. The Waverunner hedgehog cried out, scrabbling backwards before a punishing kick from his captor stopped him.

"Tis Preeckledog?"The crowd hissed in reply, to which Shuga pointed to Robert instead. " _Tis_ Preeckledog?"

The crowd cheered this time, and Addai burst into tears. Robert was too frightened to join him.

Shuga flashed his fangs in an evil grin. "Shuga agree. Shuga not like thees Preeckledog. Shuga hate heem, even. Vy doss Shuga hate Preeckledog?"

"Keelah!" some shouted. "Preeckledog keelah brutter!" shouted others, causing Robert to wince.

Shuga shambled closer to Robert. "Preeckledog keelah, yes," the mongoose spat, "he keeled Keefah, an he keeled Tookta, my brutter. Dey be two off our fineest scouts, evahday defendeen us from te dangers off te jungle. Dey be brutters to all monkoosahs, an Preeckledog murdah dem!"Shuga jabbed a claw towards Robert, and two burly mongooses emerged from the crowd and rushed to the woodlanders. Robert braced himself, clenching his eyes shut.

Robert felt sick, a dizziness seizing him. Fragmented thoughts raced through his mind. Images of Maribel and Violet, blood and corpses. The hedgehog's stomach tightened. A searing pain of guilt struck his chest.

 _I'm sorry, Bel. I'm sorry Violet. I'm sorry everyone. . ._

"No! Gerrof me, you villains!"

Robert's eyes snapped open. The savages were dragging Twilbee from his side.

"Fates, Twilbee!" Robert shouted, "What're you doin', you bleedin' sods? He ain't done nothin'!"

"Preeckledog right! But Preeckledog keel my family, my brutter. Our brutter. So, fo revenge..." Shuga began, his voice lowering to a threatening whisper, "Shuga keel Preeckledog's family."

Twilbee screamed again. Robert scrambled to his footpaws, but was yanked down by the mongoose behind him. Colonel Swiftpaw and others tried the same, with similar results. All his fellow prisoners could do was watch the unfortunate hare kick and scream as he was lugged uphill through the crowd and up the stone steps of the altar.

"Fiyah Gott Fiyah Gott! FIYAH GOTT!"

Twilbee, battered and bloody and long given up, was finally laid next to a stake at the top of it where everybeast could see. The burly mongooses tied the hare's restraints to it, then left him. A silence fell upon the crowd as Shuga made his way through them and up the steps, finally stopping when he hovered above the shivering hare. Shuga reached under the folds of his robes and procured a pouch.

"Fo Fiyah Gott. . ." Shuga muttered, emptying the pouch onto Twilbee. Robert squinted, barely making out a glimmering powder that now covered the hare. The mongoose high priest then pulled out two rocks.

"Fo revenge!" Shuga shouted and struck the rocks together. Sparks sprinkled onto Twilbee, igniting the strange powder and engulfing the hare in hellish fire. The hare screamed a bloodcurdling wail, more chilling than any scream Robert had ever heard. Twilbee writhed, the flames roaring as they swallowed him whole. The crowd roared as well, while the woodlanders screamed in horror for their friend. But nothing could drown out Twilbee's cries of agony. Robert, trying with all his might, couldn't silence Twilbee's wails. He kicked and screamed, fighting with his captor, though there was nothing the hedgehog could do. Twilbee still screamed his last screams.

All the while, Shuga smiled, staring straight at Robert. His stare bored into Robert's soul, forcing the hedgehog to look away. Even more than Twilbee's agony, Shuga's stare chilled Robert to the core. It frightened him because the mongoose knew.

He knew Robert was glad he wasn't the one burning.


	53. Gods and Demons

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Gods and Demons**

 _By: Airan (Admin)_

* * *

Though the screams had stopped, the fire continued to burn.

Atlas Stormstripe stared through a narrow gaze at the scene he had just witnessed, his teeth clenched tightly into a vicious snarl. From the many raids pirates had lead on the coasts, the badger was no stranger to seeing the burning bodies of the dead, but Twilbee's death was particularly disgusting. Whatever fur had not been burnt off the young hare's body was singed black and his jaw hung open in perpetual agony as the lingering flames licked at his charred corpse. To his left, the badgerlord heard Qwirry vomit, though whether it was from the sight or the overwhelming stench of burnt flesh, he didn't know.

Around him, some of his fellow prisoners struggled against their bonds while others were too stunned to do anything but watch. The savages danced around the young hare's corpse with devilish glee, their chorus of chittering voices rising and unifying into a steady chant.

"Fiyah Gott!"

"Fiyah Gott!"

Atlas' heart pounded in his chest as the chant continued, growing louder and louder. He bared his teeth as red began to fill the edges of his vision.

"ENOUGH!" Atlas roared.

Many of the savages leapt back in fright as the mad badger writhed back and forth against his bonds and snarled at his captors. A mongoose warrior dealt him a harsh blow with the butt of his spear, but any pain Atlas may have felt was almost completely nullified by the Bloodwrath. The warrior growled as he fixed his mistake, swapping his stance and holding the speartip threateningly against the badger's neck.

Atlas scowled but otherwise ceased his struggling, turning his attention to the rabble before addressing them coldly, "Your High Priest, Shuga was it? Does he speak for this _Fire God_?"

Shuga glowered at the badger from where he stood at the top of the stone altar in front of them. "Yes, Shuga speeks for Fiyah Gott."

Atlas narrowed his gaze at the beast. "I am Atlas, Lord of Salamandastron. I would like to know why you've imprisoned me and why you've murdered one of my soldiers."

"No merder! Justiz!" the crowd roared.

"Keefts fo Fiyah Gott!"

Shuga raised his paw to silence the rabble before turning back to the badger. "I be well awere of who you be, stripah demon," Shuga spat. "Di Fiyah Gott toll me all about you. He hes warned of te errival of di stripah demon for many seasons."

Atlas exchanged a quick look with Frederick. "Has he now? And what tales has your Fire God told of me?"

"Stripah demon be warrior o' di snekks!" one of the beasts shouted.

"Red-eyed bedger beastah bring mush deestrushon ta monkoozers!"

Atlas glared once more at the mongoose tribe's high priest. "Who is this Fire God?"

From both the prisoners and the other mongooses, all eyes turned to Shuga. The priest glared at the badger. "Te Fiyah Gott leeds monkooze tribe. I hev spoke ta heem meny times for guidance. He hes been vit us since di beginning, tefending our island."

The mongoose turned away from Atlas, looking up to the stone monolith in front of them. Like Salamandastron, the mountain loomed high into the heavens, but its face and the area around it was completely grey and contrasting to the lush green of the jungle.

"Te Dedd Rockah," he continued, "di portal ta Hellgetts eetself an ver life meets dith. Ven di viry fiyahs o' Hell spewah from wit'in an turn di sky black, eet was te Fiyah Gott who calmah di storm an kept our village safe. Te Fiyah Gott ees ennyting an everyting. Ven eet reins, eet ees only vecause he allows eet to. Ven eet vecomes coldah, eet ees vecause he ees angry."

"Well then, where is this Fire God? You said you have spoken with him. I would like to as well," Atlas said.

The mongoose priest snorted at the badger's remark. "You vill soonah'nuff. Likah mot he ees drawn ta flame,"Shuga said, giving a glance to Twilbee's burning corpse. The priest turned away from the badger and made his way back to the center of the procession, shooing the other mongooses away from the area. "Mi tribe!" the beast called to the crowd. "Di time o' te Fiyah Gott ees upon us! Tek heed, I shell now summonah heem vefore us."

Atlas watched carefully as the mongoose raised his clenched paw over the flames and began to strike up a chant. Several mongoose kits' eyes went wide as the fire occasionally sparked and glittered, but this only happened when the priest's paw came unclenched, the badgerlord noticed.

And then suddenly, as Shuga's chant reached a fever pitch, the flames burst upwards into a pillar of bright blue fire. The light from it was blinding and Atlas and the other prisoners were forced to turn their heads, but it was no question to the badger that this was the same blue fire of the Ghost Ship. As quickly as the bright flash appeared, it faded and the orange flames returned.

Everybeast turned their heads with bated breaths back to the center area where a beast now stood, flames crackling softly behind him. Garbed in a cloak of brilliant crimson and gold, the Fire God stood before his audience in complete silence, his face almost entirely obscured by a mask made from the skull of a large serpent. Atlas strained to get a better look at the beast and find any sort of clue to his identity, but even his tail was hidden carefully underneath his cloak.

Atlas frowned as he watched the beast give a nod towards Shuga and step forward. A wall of flame erupted in front of him, but The Fire God showed no fear at the sight of it. He waved his paw and it dispersed before everybeast in a fizzle of smoke. As he strode down the stairs of the stone altar, his head turned to survey the captives that had been brought before him. Within the holes of his skull mask, calculating, dark eyes moved from one to the next slowly and silently, studying them. Miss Sarish stared forward as confidently as she could, but the badger could see the fear in her eyes as the Fire God turned his attention towards her. Mister Rosequill, as always, did his best to say something reassuring to the squirrel, but Atlas heard his voice waver as if the hedgehog didn't believe his own words. The Fire God moved his attention to Master Craws, who stared bravely forward like the little soldier he was.

From weasel to otter to fox, the Fire God's eyes continued moving between them. They paused briefly when they fell upon Captain Ancora and Atlas noticed a slight smile begin to creep on the beast's features before he moved on to Frederick and then finally, himself.

Atlas stared him down defiantly. "So you are the Fire God, then? From the tales these beasts have spun about you, I assumed that you would have been taller."

Shuga stomped forward and jabbed his scepter down at the badger angrily. "You vill speakah ta te Fiyah Gott vit respect, stripah demon!"

"Peace, Shuga," the beast said, raising a paw to stop the mongoose. His voice was nothing like the mongooses. Atlas knew the voice, but it was impossible. It was a trick, like everything else that had come before it. The Fire God smiled cruelly as he looked back to the badgerlord. "Yes, you're correct, I am the Fire God. It's certainly been a long time, Atlas."

Atlas narrowed his gaze at the beast. "Who are you?"

The beast raised a claw. "In time."

Shuga moved forward, carrying a large basket filled to the brim with different offerings. "Keefts fo te Fiyah Gott," the mongoose said, kneeling down and presenting it before him. Atlas noticed the hesitation in the priest's eyes.

The Fire God sorted through the contents, pulling them out and inspecting the different items that had been brought before him: buttons, different medals, a red gem, and, finally a dagger. He held the blade up so that he could see it more clearly. "Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Te herr pickapik was kerrying eet," Shuga explained, giving a point to the beast in question. "He said he was a 'messijer' for you."

"Did 'e now?" The Fire God said, a smile once more creeping onto his features. He placed the dagger back into the basket before giving a look to Scully. The young hare looked back but otherwise had no reaction. The mysterious beast turned away before he looked to the crowd of mongooses around him, their faces a mix of both fear and admiration. "My faithful acolytes!" he called to them. "Thank you greatly, not only these truly wonderful gifts that you've presented before me, but also the prisoners that you've captured. As always, you continue t' impress me."

The crowd answered back with gusto. "Fiyah Gott! Fiyah Gott! Fiyah Gott!"

Atlas watched as the Fire God turned to Shuga and gave him a smile. The mongoose priest nodded and looked to the crowd. "Return ta your homes, monkoozers. Te Fiyah Gott shall soon takah dese beastahs ta Hellgetts vere dey vill be puneeshed een agonizing fleme. Sleep an be well now dat te stripah demon an hees followers vill bringah no harm ta our tribe!"

Atlas scowled as the crowd cheered and kneeled before their god, all fear gone from their eyes at the news they had been told. And as they dispersed, The Fire God watched them the whole way.

After a few minutes of silence, Shuga spoke. "Dey are gone."

"Aye," The Fire God replied. With that knowledge, any sort of grace the beast had was gone as he suddenly turned towards the mongoose and glared at him. "I thought we were clear when I asked that none of the prisoners be harmed," he spat, but still low enough to be a whisper. "The older hedgehog has a wound on his stomach. You might as well have burnt him too."

The mongoose scowled. "He attecked an keeled several of our scouts. One of dem was mi brutter. He deservah verse. He deservah ta suffer." Shuga paused, glancing towards Miss Sarish. "Te squerl ees mine toh. She savuh te life of a monkooze pickapik."

"You mongooses and your life debts... Very well then, you can take the squirrel," The Fire God replied with a sigh. He turned his gaze back to the prisoners. "I apologize for everythin' that you've had t' see here tonight. The mongooses can get rather... overzealous," he said, sauntering towards them. "Me personally, I've never particularly cared for these theatrics. There's somethin' disgustingly vain about wantin' beasts t' grovel at your footpaws and worship ya like a god. At least beasts don't depend on ya t' make sure the sun rises each mornin' as an emperor."

Atlas noticed a look of realization come to Captain Ancora, her face frozen in complete disbelief. The Fire God noticed it as well and walked calmly towards her, placing a claw to her lips and silencing her before she could even muster any words. He looked her in the eyes. "Or should I say..." He smiled in the pause. "...as a king."

His claw left her lips and he moved down the line of prisoners to where Atlas waited. The badger glared at him. "You didn't answer my question. Who are you?"

Atlas watched the beast's eyes roll within his mask. "Always so dense. How can a beast like you preach progress but be too blind t' see what's in front of you?" The Fire God shrugged. "But no, you deserve more credit than that. Maybe it isn't ignorance. Maybe it's simply disbelief. It has t' be impossible, right? Because, how can it be me? After all... I'm dead."

With that, the Fire God raised his paw to his face and let his mask fall into the dirt below.

Captain Blade stood before his audience with nothing more than a smirk on his face. "Hello, Atlas."

Atlas glared at him in complete hatred. In truth, there was nothing physically impressive about the pirate king. Regardless of what legends and rumors said, he was not a fox nor a rat, but just an average grey ferret. However, he had seen better days, the badger knew. His fur had lost its luster over the ten seasons since they had last met, his whiskers drooped, and his dark eyes revealed the look of a beast who had just left his prime. But despite his aging, Captain Blade was alive and well.

Captain Ancora's jaw hung open in disbelief as if what she were seeing was only a mirage, while the Waverunners stared at him in fear.

"How?" It was Frederick who was the first to speak. "Atlas, he killed you, wot."

Blade regarded the hare with a smile. "Did 'e now?" the ferret said with a light chuckle. "Or is that merely what he told you beasts?"

"I watched you fall from that window! I watched you die!" Atlas snarled.

"It's funny how a simple blow to a beast's skull can warp their mind in such twisted ways. A little madness here, memory loss there. And where beasts have no memories, they begin t' create them. Until they become truth," Blade replied. "You watched somebeast fall, but it certainly wasn't me. Alas, that poor, brave beast was barely older than a leveret. He was the only one that charged with you when you found me, so eager t' make a name for himself, and he was the one who saved your life. After I hit you with that mace, he stopped me from doin' it again and ran me off. And when he turned, how was he supposed t' know that his badgerlord had been taken by the Bloodwrath?

"What a disgusting thing it is, the Bloodwrath. Friends become foes, and words soon become screams. A beast becomes unable to be reasoned with and prone to hallucinations. And there's so much more to it than that, that I've learned over the seasons, but sometimes... there are truths that are best left unknown," the ferret continued. "So, as he turned, you looked up. What was in front of you was no longer a hare, and the sword he carried became a mace. Your paw lunged forward..."

"Be quiet."

"Your claws curled around his neck..."

"Be quiet!"

"And it snapped."

"BE QUIET!" Atlas screamed.

"And then, with a roar, you flung his corpse out of the window and into the sea below," Blade finished. "When the other Waverunners found you, covered in blood, they could only believe what you said. There was no body, I had already ran. The window was shattered. And, after all, how can you argue with a blood crazed badger when he says he killed Captain Blade?"

"You're a liar," Atlas growled.

"Yet, here I am," the ferret said with a cruel smile. He leaned forward towards the badger, close enough that Atlas could feel his hot breath against his fur. "And here you are as well, takin' the bait just as every other beast did, and just like I hoped you would. It's amazing what a couple of rumors can do. Find a small crew of beasts who are loyal to you and can keep a secret, give 'em a pawful of gold, and tell 'em to sail into every port along Mossflower's coast sayin' that they found Captain Blade's lost treasure. Beasts from all over come sailin' in, lookin' for wealth, only t' be greeted by the Ghost Ship."

"So, you were behind that then?"

"Te Ghost Ship protects dis island fromah all gret evils, demon," Shuga answered.

"Yes, that's what Shuga here tells his tribe. A spirit summoned by the Fire God to protect them," Blade said. "Of course, I've mostly been using it t' test my toys."

"And then the beasts that manage to get away start even more rumors," Frederick said in realization. "'It can sink a ship without touching it.'"

"Correct, Colonel Swiftpaw," Blade answered, giving the hare a round of applause. The ferret strode over to the basket of gifts the mongooses gave him, searching through it quickly and producing a shiny Waverunner pin. He pinned it to Frederick's uniform sarcastically."Yes, the survivors start more rumors, sayin' that it's the _Phantom_ that's defendin' the island. And who comes searchin' then?"

"Pirates." Everybeast turned their heads towards Captain Ancora.

Blade nodded and gave her a smile. "Exactly."

Realization hit Atlas at that moment. This wasn't a sacrifice. It was a recruitment. And they were going to have to join or die. His eyes darted to the large mountain in front of them. It was like Salamandastron. It was a fortress, likely filled to the brim with pirates from all over the seas.

"Atlas, you always said that a smart beast was the most dangerous, and you're right about that, but for the wrong reasons. It isn't because beasts will follow a smart beast. No, you don't follow a beast because they're smart. That's not why anybeast followed you over these seasons. No, they followed you... because you were t' be feared." Blade reached into his cloak and pulled out a familiar mace from where it hung at his hip. He twirled it experimentally and tested the sharpness of one of its spikes with a claw. "You took away everythin' I had, destroyed everythin' I had ever built. For ten long seasons I've waited and now, I'm goin' t' do the same t' you. And not one beast in Salamandastron or Hearth is goin' t' see it comin'."

Atlas narrowed his gaze and lurched against his bonds but they held taut. "I killed you once. I can kill you again," he snarled.

The badger felt the point of a spike touch his left eye as Captain Blade lowered the weapon into position. Frederick and the other Waverunners merely watched in stunned silence.

"Poor Atlas, the world is a beast of a burden isn't it? But don't worry..."

Blade raised the mace.

"I can take it off your shoulders."


	54. Head in the Clouds

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Head in the Clouds, Got No Weight On My Shoulders**

 _By: Ciera_

* * *

 _"What is it that drives the world?" Blade had asked her once. "What essential force keeps it spinning madly on? Ask anybeast, anybeast at all, and they'll tell you. Whether they're woodlander or vermin, young or old, erudite or simpleton, they'll tell you sure enough. Some will say it's gold, or timber, others of a more philosophical bent might say it's love or greed or the pursuit of happiness. It doesn't matter what they say, because they've already given you the answer. Because you see, what they say isn't nearly as important as_ that _they say._

 _"Rumors. Speech. Words. The means by which the smouldering twig of my idea attracts the glowing ember of your idea and begets the melded flame of our idea. Get enough of those ideas together, and they'll create an inferno, burning bright in a world blackened by ignorance."_

 _The pirate economy may have had gold as its cornerstone, but rumors were the mortar that ran between the bricks. They spread between every ship and every crew, bonding the distant pirates together even as they separated them. News, gossip, who lived, who'd died, what'd been taken… rumor was a chaotic sea, and every story was a current event._

 _And then along came Cyril, who figured out that by dipping in just_

 _hereand altering the story just like this,you could create eddies in the current._

 _Captain Blade began as a rumor, a carefully-spun collection of anecdotes and stories told over one too many tankards of grog. The tales were outlandish but believable, realistically bold, and just humorous enough to snag in the memory so as to remain fresh for retelling. Those tales were passed on from crew to crew, from captain to captain. They grew, they multiplied. Blade had sacked two coastal villages in one night, put every single beast to the sword. Haven't seen the Darksail lately, wonder if they ran afoul of Blade?_

 _And then, before the eddies grew too chaotic, Cyril stepped in and became Blade. The Captain of legend. The rumor made flesh. His reputation preceded him everywhere he went, and the sheer force of his charisma was enough to ensure that the real Blade came off exactly as impressively as the rumors made him out to be._

 _Ciera had played a variety of roles. She was the sounding board against which Blade's rumoured exploits were tested. She helpfully spread a variety of tall tales, which her deadpan demeanour made very hard to doubt. And if that failed, well, there was always a cutlass waiting in the dark for anybeast who doubted Blade too hard._

 _They made an excellent team._

There was a thundering moment of silence after Blade's mace smashed into the Badger Lord's skull. Atlas crumpled into a shapeless black mass. A small rivulet of blood trickled onto the gray stone. Only the slightest coruscation in the hoary darkness indicated that Atlas still drew breath.

The garish apparition that was Blade began to giggle slightly.

Blade. Alive. He turned to her, grinning. Unlocked the shackles.

Ciera numbly massaged the life back into her paws. They still ached from Atlas' onslaught. And there she was, after ten seasons of aimless wandering, face to face with Captain Blade. Blade, who she'd long ago given up as lost forever. Blade, her oldest friend and dearest companion, the beast who knew her more intimately than anyone before or since. Blade, who was the embodiment of all of her hopes and dreams.

WHOK!

The punch caught him underneath the chin so hard it almost lifted him off his footpaws.

Blade, who'd broken her trust. Blade, who'd left her alone. Blade, who'd destroyed her ship and nearly drowned her.

Blade, who was all these things and more, staggered back amid a chorus of gasps. The sheer enormity of watching the beast who was both Fire God and legendary Pirate King get punched in the face temporarily galvanized everybeast into stillness. Ciera hit him again, reasoning that there'd probably never be a better opportunity.

Shuga looked as if he would spring at her, but Blade waved him off, using the other paw to wipe at the eye she'd socked. Ciera glared at him, but left her fists by her sides.

Blade grinned, slightly lopsidedly on account of the battering. "It's good to see you again, Ciera."

The words echoed about in her skull, over and over, colliding with one another in their endless repetition until they were only fragments. _Good to see you good to see you again Ciera to see again Ciera it's good again again Ciera it's_

Her mind buzzed with questions. Thousands upon thousands of them, a roiling morass of inquiry.

She'd been more right than she knew. The treasure was indeed a trap, a device intended to lure pirates towards this desolate isle. She had assumed Atlas, or one his more cunning hares, was behind the rumors, but it was an onion of a plot, with layers upon layers. The treasure was bait for the pirates, and the pirates in turn were bait for Atlas. It was ingeniously cunning. She'd have been impressed, if it hadn't been for one errant phrase.

Blade had said something about finding a "small crew of beasts who are loyal to you." Small crew. Other beasts had known he was alive, had kept it secret for ten seasons while all around them the seas rang out with the cries of the dead and dying. Others had known, and she hadn't. He had deliberately kept it from her. He'd left her out there, to fight and scrabble amongst the ruins of their fallen empire, watching most of them die and the rest turn to monsters.

Why? Was it some sort of sick test?

She gazed into his eyes. There was no admiration there, no approval; Blade showed no hint of pleasure at the sight of his favorite pupil standing before him, having survived the trials which had killed so many others. But there was something else in the way his eyes moved, the way he carried himself. Something she couldn't quite place. Not surprise, clearly. In a perverse way, it was almost a compliment; Blade's relative nonchalance evinced that he hadn't particularly regarded a ship full of Waverunners, a wreck, serpents, mongeese, and a berserking Badger Lord as quite enough deadliness to prevent her from showing up here.

So, not a test, and not an oversight… but what?

Guilt? Shame?

 _"_ _Get rid of it!"_

 _Ciera stared at him, stunned. She'd been expecting… well, she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. Denial, maybe? Shock? Certainly not… vehemence._

 _"I can deal with it."_

 _"It's a distraction. Worse, it'll take you out of commission. I need you – all of my captains, to be ready. The situation is escalatin' out of control. There are dockyards croppin' up all along the coastline."_

 _"So?"_

 _"So Atlas is buildin' a fleet!"_

 _Ciera mentally kicked herself for even asking the question. Of course. A fleet. It was logical. How could she have missed that?_

 _"He's aimin' to pursue us on our own territory," Blade continued, staring apprehensively at the map. "We need every ship, every able-bodied pirate, if we're goin' to be able to weather the onslaught."_

 _He turned to face her. "This war is goin' to happen, and I need you there with me. I need your mind, your strategies. None of the other captains understand the skirmish the way that you do."_

 _"My mind will be just fine."_

 _"Will it?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _He frowned, obviously disbelieving her but reticent to press the issue. "How do you think your crew will react when you're laid up, unable to walk properly? When you're recoverin' and can't get out of bed? To say nothin' of how they'll react to the presence of…"_

 _"…your kit?"_

 _The word lanced through the air like a whipcrack._

No, it couldn't possibly be guilt. Neither of them had ever felt guilty for what happened, thanks to the unshakeable iron shields of reason and rationale. They'd done what they'd done. It was never a romance, simply a way of discharging inconveniently distracting emotions. He was attracted to her, she was swayed by the passion of his ideals. They'd allow those feelings to blossom every now and again, and then shove them back into the darkness where they belonged and get back down to business. They'd never used the word "lovers," because they'd never used the word "love."

The pregnancy? He'd never be guilty for that. Loathe as she was to admit it, he'd been right. The pregnancy was a distraction, even before… that.

 _It could have been an accident. Probably was._

 _There was a raid, a joint venture between the Silver Maiden and Captain Scarcrab of the Foulwake. Small coastal village, nothing out of the ordinary about it, nothing unusual about the raid._

 _Scarcrab's lot were undisciplined, much like their captain. They pillaged quickly and indiscriminately, leaving the more methodical searching for Ciera and her crew. They missed out on a lot of the trinkets, but scored more of the vital supplies: food, water, tools._

 _Ciera herself, her belly not large enough to hamper her movements but just slightly too large to ignore, had opted to take the rear. She'd been scouting out a hastily-abandoned hut, and noticed an unnaturally straight crack in the dirt floor. The trapdoor was easy to uncover, and revealed a hidden basement stocked with sacks of grain. She headed out to call for assistance unloading it… and then it all became fractured, disjointed sensations. The feeling of somebeast shoving her. The smell of dust as she hit the ground face first. Sky whirling as she rolled, tried to recover. And then…_

 _THUD._

 _The hollow sound of the club smashing heavily into her stomach. Screams. Rage. Skin and fur tearing apart. Blood running between her teeth. Exhaustion. Blackness. They said later that the beast was probably one of Scarcrab's crew, a hapless idiot who'd mistaken her for a woodlander. There wasn't enough left of him to make a proper identification, though._

 _It could have been an accident, oh yes. Accidents had a funny way of happening to those who disobeyed direct orders from Blade._

 _She'd never be able to prove it, not really. All she had was suspicion, but that was enough._

 _The Silver Maiden weighed anchor, and headed back to Terramort. Ciera spent the voyage waiting for the trauma to sink in, for her body to reject the beaten fetus. But nothing happened. Her body continued to swell, as the unborn kit drew nourishment from her flesh. When she arrived at the pirate fortress, she commandeered a section of the fortress "under Blade's orders" and sequestered herself to wait for the inevitable. Outside, time passed. Tensions escalated between pirates and Waverunners. Councils were called, to discuss preparations for war. Strategies were outlined, and battle plans were drawn. And Ciera wasn't there._

 _She hadn't been there._

That was it, she hadn't been there. He hadn't left her out of the loop as a test, oh no. He'd done it as a punishment.

"So what is all this?" Ciera demanded, seriously considering a third punch. "You drag the pirates out here, sink their vessels, then press-gang them into your service?"

"Press gangin' isn't really what I'd call it," Blade said evenly.

Ciera pointed at the charred hare. "I'd call it a choice between serving or being served up."

"It ain't like that."

"It's exactly like that."

"Look, I understand that you're upset."

"Upset!?"

"And you've every right t'be. But before you go slaggin' me in the face again, at least let me show you what I've built here."

"And what have you built?"

"The future of piracy. I have an army, Ciera. An army." Blade's voice grew steadily more impassioned as he spoke. "Don't you understand? I've done it. I've actually _done_ it. I've taken the flotsam and jetsam of the seas, and I've assembled them into a workin', functionin' unit. They work together, they fight together... Don't you see? This is what we were workin' towards the entire time. Pirates, all of them, united together under a single cause."

"Impossible. That rabble can't be controlled."

"It can. And it is."

"It can't work." It wasn't possible. It just wasn't. Pirates were too stupid, too greedy. They couldn't be made to work together, to be organized into a useful force. They'd tried, and in no time flat the entire framework had collapsed under its own weight. How could Blade have conquered such innate flaws? Even with the isolation of the island, even if you cut off every other avenue… it still shouldn't have been possible. Not in ten seasons, not in a hundred seasons.

"Ciera," Blade said smoothly. "It works. You have every reason to doubt it, but it works. The society I've built here is sustainable. Piracy can live again, and keep on livin', until the seas dry up."

It was everything they'd wanted, and more – if it was true.

"But what happens after Salamandastron falls? _If_ Salamandastron falls?"

"We do there what we've done here. Turn it into a safe haven for vermin everywhere."

"But-"

"I know you've got questions, but please just… come with me. See it for yourself. You and your crew can take a look for yourselves, an' if you don't like what you see, you're free to go."

"Free to go where?"

"Hellgates, you're suspicious."

"I'm suspicious of a beast who deliberately kept me in the dark and let me think he was dead for ten seasons. You also haven't given me an answer. Free to go _where_?"

"Wherever you like. You can tag along with us as far as Salamandastron, and then go your own way when the fighting starts." Blade's eyes flicked up to meet her gaze. "…I figure you're comfortable enough with that sort of thing."

Ciera's hackles rose. "Terramort wasn't my fault. I filled my position."

"Eventually."

She bit back a slew of curses.

"Anyway," Blade continued. "No point jawin' about any longer. There's work t'be done. Shuga, have somebeast tend to the badger, I don't want him dyin' of blood loss before 'is time."

The sinuous mongoose, busily unchaining a Waverunner squirrel, nodded. He scuttled off to fetch some of his compatriots, shoving the squirrel ahead of him.

"In th' meantime, you might as well hear me out. I think you'll be impressed by what I've built here. I'll even let you bring your crew along. Although," Blade scanned the prisoners, "I can't really figure which of this lot are yours. Most of 'em are Waverunners."

Ciera gazed along the line. "The vixen with the bad leg, and the scarred otter are mine."

Blade raised an eyebrow at Chak's inclusion, but Ciera deigned not to indulge him. "…Oh yes, and the rat with the bandaged tail, and the leveret."

The older ferret smirked humorlessly as he loosened Vera's chains. "You always did have a soft spot for children, didn't you?"

For possibly the first time in her life, Ciera Ancora flinched. A hot, burning sensation started at the base of her skull, and coursed like wildfire through her veins.

Chak, Plink, Vera, and Scully formed a loose conglomeration. "Four crew?" Blade queried. "That's it?"

Ciera looked at the prisoners, biting back a savage retort. She couldn't afford to lose control. Not now. The prisoners were all Waverunners. Well, all except for one bedraggled figure, dejected and miserable against the stone pillar. Tooley. Her crewbeast. The weasel looked at her, his face pitiful, expectant.

Of course she should release him. There was no reason why she shouldn't. It wasn't actually his fault that the _Maiden_ had been destroyed, not really.

But when she looked at him, all she could see was the burning wreckage of her beloved _Silver Maiden_ , slipping out of her grasp forever. Their days in the jungle had done little to heal that wound, and just the sight of him was enough to peel away the scab and expose its rawness to the elements. It made her weak. And she couldn't be weak; not in front of Blade. Not now. Not again. Not ever.

"Yes," Ciera said quietly. "That's it."


	55. A New Brand of Slavery

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **A New Brand of Slavery**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

The burly otter stepped away from the column he had been chained to, rubbing his smarting wrists and looking up at Captain Ciera and Blade, the pirate king he had heard tales about most of his life. He gave an appreciative nod to both ferrets, as he was certain it was only by Captain Ciera's word that he was now free. Chak rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, then breathed deeply that sweet scent of freedom, which unfortunately was fouled by a small gust of wind carrying smoke from the young Waverunner's smoldering corpse. Chak shivered, realizing it could have just as easily been him hanging there, a sizzling blackened skeleton.

 _What a way to go._

Chak joined Vera, Plink, and a hare he didn't know, climbing the path up to the dark mountain and the torch-lit entrance where beasts awaited them. He stopped just inside the stone entryway, glancing over his shoulder, wondering what would become of Robert.

 _Surly they wouldn't burn him too…_

No. Everyone said Blade was smart. He would see the value in keeping a healthy, able-bodied beast alive – woodlander or not. As long as he didn't return Robert and his fellow Waverunners to the vengeful savages, Chak might be able to find him again.

He turned his attention back to the vast mountain hall before him.

 _Then again maybe not._

Chak stood at the edge of a huge, natural atrium. Its walls were riddled with holes – tunnel entrances that led into the heart of the mountain. An inscrutable maze, no doubt. The otter whistled in wonder. It was a hive. A _pirate_ hive. Yet these pirates were not your typical run-of-the-mill corsairs. Some actually wore uniforms, and they marched rather than swaggered.

He turned and looked at Plink who had squeezed in after him, raising an eyebrow and nodding at the vast space before them.  
"Quite a set-up, eh, matey? Blade's been busy fer a deadbeast."

Plink stared, starry-eyed at the scene before them, then swallowed and nodded in agreement.

"Glad ter see ye made it out o' the jungle in one piece," Chak added in an attempt to smooth things over with the young rat.

She held up her truncated tail wordlessly.

He sighed. He never was very good at this sort of thing.

"Where's Minstrel?" the rat suddenly inquired. "I didn't see him at the village."

Chak's face fell and he shook his head sadly. "Found a booby trap in the jungle, mornin' after ye left."

Plink stared, uncomprehending. Then her eyes widened abruptly. "He's dead?"

Chak nodded somberly.

Plink scuffed a footpaw in the dirt that had accumulated across the cavern floor.

Ahead of them Vera was led away by a searat and the hare by a uniformed stoat. Another rat from Blade's crew approached Plink and Chak, followed closely by a weasel who looked the sea otter up and down. She reminded him of Tooley, but with a cleverer, scrutinizing look in her eyes. Both the weasel and the rat wore simple sashes rather than uniforms, as did most of the mountain's inhabitants.

"So ye be the new additions ta Cap'n Blade's crew, eh?" the rat grinned, winking at Plink. "Come wi' me, lass, an' I'll show ye around!"

Plink brightened some at the pirate's welcoming words and followed after him, glancing back briefly at Chak as they separated.

"They tell me yer a slavemaster." The weasel addressed him. "Ye've been appointed ta the brimstone mine ta replace Dremlak who be promoted now. I'll be showin' ye where ye need ta go."

Chak nodded, scanning the swarm around him. So he was to have clout and authority again. Status. It seemed he hadn't fallen quite so far as he had feared. He snorted and spat.

"So slave _master_ means I be 'avin' a rank o' some level, aye?"

"Aye," she answered carefully.

"An' I be guessin' that rank be 'igher 'n yers, aye?"

The weasel frowned. "I serpose."

"Good. I be needin' a shirt. Go find me one."

"A… shirt?"

Chak shot the weasel a disapproving look. "Aye, a shirt. An' if that be too hard fer ye, bring me a beast about me size an' I'll take 'is."

The pirate glanced around, uncertain.

"Air yer ears full o' wax, weasel?" Chak barked. "I be givin' ye an order!"

The weasel yelped and hurried off, recognizing the danger in Chak's tone.

It wasn't long before she returned with a wadded up garment that smelled of sweat and mildew. Chak didn't ask questions, throwing the shirt on quickly over his bare back and tucking it in at his belt.

"Now," he addressed the attentive weasel, after rolling the sleeves up evenly, "take me ta this 'brimstone' mine ye mentioned. Soun's like a barrel o' laughs."

* * *

Despite the clout it awarded him, the position Chak found himself in was not an enviable one. Brimstone, or sulfur, as it was also called, was a noxious substance that filled the air with a stench like rotten eggs. The dust burned when you breathed it, and though a scarf over the muzzle helped, one's eyes still watered and stung when exposed. The mine was in a crater at the top of the mountain, but it was deep enough that what little wind reached them merely stirred up the dust from all the chopping and digging.

The slaves themselves were another version of horror. Red-eyed and sickly, they coughed and dribbled body fluids as they stumbled along steep, narrow paths, lugging great baskets filled with yellow chunks of sulfur. Some were missing body parts, and most looked like they were just waiting to die.

As Chak had suspected, Blade had kept Robert and some of the other Waverunners alive to work. They showed up shortly after Chak, and were immediately shackled for the night. Reedox, too, was among them, which made the otter's heart sink further. In Chak's mind, he had set the squirrel free. It would be hard to go back to the way things were, and Chak had a feeling Reedox would not comply this time, no matter how strictly he treated him.

His first day on the job, Chak had tried to revive the slaves with his rewards and bonuses system, encouraging them to work hard to earn perks. They were obviously desperate and hungry, but they lacked the will to participate, finding it challenging enough to simply keep up with the day's quota. The energy saved from not working extra was more valuable than any pickled egg or candied fruit Chak could offer. In fact, the slaves seemed to move slower than ever, and responded only when the slave driver cracked his whip and threatened them with violence.

The pungent scent of sweet decay assaulted Chak's nostrils as his counterpart, a tailless wildcat named Torin, stepped up beside him to give him some pointers. The days were to be split between the two slave drivers, each taking on eight-hour shifts, but since Chak was new, Torin had to show him the way things were done.

"A typical run shouldn't take more 'n a quarter hour," the cat advised, nodding at Robert, who was breathing hard and unloading a basket full of yellow chunks into a big wagon. The slave driver grabbed a large hour glass from a compartment on the side and waved it for the hedgehog to see.

"Oy, you! Grovelhog!"

Robert's brow knitted at the name. "D'ye mean me, mate?"

"Aye, that be what I'm callin' ye. Ye know why?" He motioned for Robert to come closer, then kicked his legs out from under him so he fell to his belly with a grunt. "'Cause yer ta grovel afore yer masters, ya pin-brained scuttler!" Robert gave Chak a _"_ _Can you believe this guy?"_ look, then nodded his head for Torin to see.

"An we're not yer mates, slavescum." He gestured for Robert to stand and the hedgehog rose with some effort, grunting at his tender joints. Torin tapped a claw to the glass of the timer. "Ye see this 'ere hour glass, Grovelhog? Ye'd better be back with full baskets by the time the sand runs its course. Productivity be mos' importan' 'round 'ere. Yer expected ta keep up wi' the rest an' pull yer weight. Ya savvy?"

"Yes, sir." Robert nodded again. Torin flipped the hourglass and set it atop the water barrel, forcing Robert to hurry back into the mine.

"Ye gotta lay down the law, mate. Otherwise they won't take ye seriously."

Chak scowled behind his kerchief. "I know 'ow ta drive, chum. Been doin' it most o' me life."

The wildcat laughed harshly. "Well whatever ye were doin' earlier wi' the dried mango bits at breakfast – that ain't gonna fly wi' this crowd. Mine slaves be understandin' jus' one thing." He pulled his short, multi-tailed whip from his side. "Pain." He laid into a random shrew, causing him to howl and scramble along faster. "Yer soft method might've worked on a galley crew. I unnerstand on a ship it be importan' ta maintain yer numbers. Ain't easy ta replace a slave when yer in the middle o' the ocean. But out 'ere, things be a li'l more… flexible."

Chak crossed his arms, looking out across the crater. Robert had just reached a deposit and was starting to break it up with a wooden pole.

"Dremlak unnerstood that well. Mayhaps too well. Production were 'igh under 'is paw, but we lost a lot o' slaves. Worked ta get 'im promoted though!" The cat winked at Chak.

A hare trudged slowly up the path and Torin nodded meaningfully toward him, indicating the sea otter should take action. Chak growled and pulled his own whip from his side. He would have to be careful not to appear weak in front of Torin.

"Yarrrr! Pick up the pace thar, long ears!" He cracked his whip and a red welt appeared across the hare's shoulders. The Waverunner flinched and sped up, nearly upsetting his baskets. Chak moved down the path, snapping his whip and growling threats to keep the plodding slavebeasts moving. Familiarity set in and Chak relaxed, feeling more comfortable in his role. He started to see foot-dragging as a form of defiance, as though those slaves were personally insulting his authority and competence.

Finally Robert appeared, lugging two full baskets on either end of a short yoke. Chak had started to worry that the hedgehog was a foot-dragger too, but it appeared he had made good enough time as they reached Torin and the wagon. Chak noted the sand that still remained in the top of the hourglass. Robert was the kind of hard worker Chak could be proud of.

"Hold on." Torin stopped the hedgehog before he emptied his load into the wagon. He grabbed a chunk of sulfur from one of the baskets and held it up in the late morning light. "Ye call this pure?" The piece of sulfur was more brown than yellow, but neither Robert nor Chak had realized color mattered. Torin dumped both baskets out onto the ground. Bright yellow gleamed amidst dull and brown-striped chunks. "This whole load be rubbish!" Torin struck Robert hard across the face so that he reeled. Chak started, finding his own paws forming reflexively into fists. Then consciously, intentionally, he unclenched them, breathing deeply through the kerchief. He could not allow himself to be so affected. Robert was a tough enough beast.

"Ye'll fill these up right else I'll flay the quills off yer back!" Torin pointed at the near-empty hourglass. "And ye'd better hurry. Yer time's almost out." Robert's eyes widened at the impossible task, but he hefted the empty baskets over his shoulders all the same, heading back down into the mine.

"I keep this glass with me every time I be out 'ere, mate. If a beast be takin' too long, ye know 'e ain't up ta no good. Slaves should be workin' – not chattin'. Otherwise they be gettin' all kinds'a ideas."

Chak grunted his agreement.

"I be 'avin' me own way o' dealin' wi' beasts what be takin' their time, though ye might be findin' yer own method soon enough."

A chill ran up Chak's spine. What was Torin going to do to Robert?

A squirrel sauntered up to the wagon and tossed his yellow sulfur in. It was Reedox. He glowered at Chak and swiped a paw angrily across his dripping nose. Torin noticed the glare.

"Looks like that one be trouble."

Chak nodded. "Oh, aye. He allus 'ad a 'ead like a walnut. Used ta be on me crew." Chak paused, then added as a reassurance, "We 'ave an unnerstandin' though."

Torin's yellow-green eyes tracked the squirrel like prey. "Do ye now? What kinda 'unnerstandin''?"

Chak felt a surge of heat flush across his face. "'E works 'ard an' I leave 'im be. Simple. If 'e slows, I give 'im a lashin'."

"Looks ta me like 'e don' respect ye, mate."

"Oh, 'e be respectin' me," Chak insisted.

"Call 'im o'er then." The cat's eyes did not leave the squirrel.

Chak panicked inwardly. If there was one thing Reedox was bad at, it was playing along. "Oy! Reedox! C'mere!" Chak made sure to use the squirrel's proper name.

Reedox halted in his tracks, then turned, walking stiffly back toward the two slave drivers. Even his posture was resentful. Yellow dust coated his fur except where wet trails dribbled from his bloodshot eyes.

"What."

Chak bristled. "Ye'd better curb that attitude, squirrel."

"What, _sir_."

Chak smacked him across the back of the head with his coiled whip, frustrated. Reedox responded with a snarl.

Torin raised an eyebrow at the sea otter. "Got spirit, that one."

Chak snorted. "Aye, but it 'elps keep 'im goin'. Get back ta work ye lout." He gave Reedox a kick in the rear, sending him back toward the mine before something worse could happen.

"Stop." The wildcat commanded, and the squirrel paused, showing signs at last of apprehension. Torin patted Chak on the shoulder. "Le'me show ye 'ow we deal with spirited slaves." He sauntered over to the rodent, relieving him of his yoke and empty baskets. "Come with me." He seized Reedox by an ear and drug him up toward the dining pit near the edge of the crater where gruel would be dished out at the midday shift change. A fire crackled continuously there, awaiting the great pot.

Torin gave the squirrel a shove, sending him sprawling to the ground beside the fire. He put a footpaw to his chest, pinning him there on his back, then picked a pole up that had been resting half in and half out of the flames. An "X" glowed red hot at the tip.

The squirrel's eyes grew wide. "W-wait – what'd I do? What are you gonna do?" Reedox squirmed against the cat's claws.

"One brand fer each instance o' insubordination. First the forehead, " he gestured loosely with the iron, outlining a triangle as he spoke, "then the left cheek, then the right cheek, and then if they still ain't learned their lesson, the left eye be next an' then the right. Most don't last long after that, but they sure know their place, har har!"

Chak forced a smile and a short laugh.

"'Elps ta iden'ify who ta watch out fer too." Torin turned the brand slowly, studying Reedox. "Hey, do me a favor, would ya, mate?"

Chak swallowed. "Aye?"

"Grab that wet rag over there and wipe 'im down. That dust be ruther flammable."

Chak grabbed the cloth from a short stone wall nearby. He knelt down beside Reedox and began wiping the yellow dust carefully from his red fur. It was an oddly intimate endeavor that would have made both beasts extremely uncomfortable if not for the blistering threat radiating above them. To Chak, the act was an apology of sorts. He couldn't stop what was about to happen, but he could at least make sure the squirrel wasn't engulfed in flames like another mongoose sacrifice.

"A'right, a'right. That be good enough ye fusspot."

Reedox clung to the otter as Chak tried to pull away. "Chak… Chak… Don't let him!"

Chak tore away from the squirrel's grasp.

"Chak!" Reedox reached a paw out, begging for help.

Flashes of memory from the sinking _Maiden_ filled Chak's mind: helpless, drowning beasts, reaching for him - their last desperate hope. And all he could do was watch them drown.

Chak closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. _"_ _It won't kill him. This isn't life or death. I can't be a protector now."_ He willed the squirrel to understand, though he knew he never would.

A horrible screech tore through the air and the smell of singed fur and burning flesh assaulted the otter's nose, despite his kerchief. Chak opened his eyes in time to see traces of smoke still wafting from the black X that burned across Reedox's forehead.

"That be one strike, tree climber." Torin leaned in, still holding the squirrel down. "Ye'll avoid more if ye do yer work proper an' treat yer masters with the respect they deserve. Includin' this 'ere otter." He cocked his head at Chak. "Savvy?"

Reedox nodded readily, though he appeared to be in some form of shock.

Torin turned and smiled at Chak. "Fear is the quickest means to garner respect. Remember that. If they fear you, they'll respect you."

"Aye," the otter affirmed, then added silently, _"_ _Until they strangle you in your sleep…"_

"Ahoy! Grovelhog!" Torin called down the slope to Robert, who stood staring from beside the wagon, holding his two full baskets.

Chak felt a stab of shame, wondering if Robert had seen his cowardice. Had he been wrong to let it happen? Should he have stepped in after all and fought the wildcat, bearing whatever consequences might have resulted?

"Come fetch this slave an' 'elp 'im get back to work!" Torin instructed, then turned to Chak. "I'll let ye get back ta things now, matey, but don't be so lenient. Let 'em know who's boss." He clapped the otter on the back. "I'll be up in me quarters 'til me shift. Send one o' the lads if ye need any further assistance."

Chak nodded, more than a little relieved to see the slave driver depart. Robert hurried over to Reedox and helped the squirrel to his shaky feet. At least Robert could be there for him. He had the nobler role again. Yet it was a powerless one. Chak, at least, was in a place where he might actually make a difference when he decided to take action.

And take action he would.

He might not have been able to help one slave today, but perhaps in the days to come, he could help them all.


	56. In the Hall of the Mountain King

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **In the Hall of the Mountain King**

 _By: Gordon/Scully_

* * *

After Atlas had been taken out, the sorting began. Woodlanders and traitors were hauled away as slaves. Captain Ancora and those loyal to her were welcomed as Blade's guests. For a terrifying moment, Scully was certain that he would be taken off with the woodlanders. Naturally, Lieutenant Wrightbones and Colonel Swiftpaw would kill him the moment they got the opportunity, since he had betrayed them and left them to die with the snakes. But Captain Ancora spoke up, and claimed him as her own.

He was genuinely a pirate, now. They gave him a new coat and vest to wear, and a leather belt with a shiny brass buckle, and a silver chain to wear around his neck in case anyone questioned that he was a pirate. They did not return his dagger, nor the vial of hemlock, nor his bow and arrows. But they had given him a sword, and he practiced swinging it around in the barracks every night.

The mountain fortress - the "dead rock", as it was called, since no vegetation grew on it - was a small city teeming with activity. Legions of pirates organized into regiments engaged in military drills by day, and killed the time at night with games of chance, or games of combat. Blade had raised an army.

One evening, as the sun was beginning to set, Scully was sitting outside with Captain Ancora, Plink, and an otter named Chak. The Captain had taken her crew to see something spectacular. Looking out on the bay to the north of the mountain, she showed them a fleet full of ships, rivaling even the fleet which Atlas had raised. Plink pointed out to them the Zephyr among the the ships, now flying a new flag.

Scully pulled out a book of poems he had brought with him from home, and read:

 _Can you hear the groans  
of the old ocean maiden,  
waiting for her captain,  
her one true love?  
Long has it been  
since th' old girl was forsaken,  
yet she knows he'll come back  
right soon, by jove!_

 _As her boards rot away,_  
 _she still awaits that day,_  
 _no waves will deter her_  
 _nor storms keep her away!_  
 _No rain will make her drown,_  
 _no wind will knock her down,_  
 _he is coming soon to sail her_  
 _back to her home town!_

 _Yet would she only settle_  
 _to the mighty ocean floor_  
 _she'd see that there her captain waits_  
 _behind death's door._

Plink thanked him for the poem. Something about her at that moment reminded him of the time they were hiding in the storeroom, after she escaped from the brig of the _Zephyr_ , trying not to be caught. He wished he had a poem for that memory.

 _A lot can change in just a week._

Two rats arrived.

"Hagglethrump?"

Plink, Chak, and Captain Ancora all looked back at the rats blankly.

"Which of ye be Hagglethrump?"

"None of us," said Captain Ancora. "Get out of here."

"Boss says 'tis a hare with ye, missy." They both looked at Scully.

She pulled out her sword threateningly. "I told you to get out of here. You will treat me and my crew with respect, do you hear me?"

The rats scowled at her.

Scully sighed.

"Um… I think they want me."

Scully stood up. He looked each of his shocked crew-mates in the eyes, and he tried to hold Plink's gaze for as long as he could. Then, he walked away with the two rats, not knowing what to expect.

Once they were out of hearing range, the rats began to talk to each other as they entered the mountain and climbed up a long stairway.

"Oi! Who made 'er queen o' th' island?"

"Talk about an uppity broad!"

"Who's she think she is, anyway?"

Scully interrupted them. The shadows of the torches on the walls made him look bigger than he really was. "She's Blade's friend. She knew Blade a long time ago."

"Uh oh! His _friend_!"

"Oi! She won't last long."

"Trust me, little mate, we've buried lots of Blade's 'friends'."

"Don't tell me. Blade promised she'll be his 'second in command', or some nonsense like that?"

"Um…" Scully had to catch his breath from walking up so many stairs, "well... I don't know... actually..."

"Oi! That's the last thing 'e says afore 'e slays ye!"

They reached the top of the stairway at a large bronze door. The rats knocked five times and the door was opened for them by an old, sickly-looking creature whose body had been mutilated. The creature bowed at them twice.

"Hagglethrump," they said, and left.

The creature was missing both eyes - the wounds were recent, but had been cauterized. He wore only a grey rag around its waist. His jaw hung low on his face, broken. He had apparently once been a hare, although he was barely recognizable as one, with his ears cut off at his head and his whiskers trimmed off. Most of the fur on his body had recently been shaved away, but the fur on his head which remained was old and grey, and he limped as he walked.

Scully left his outer coat with the book of poems in it on a rack by the door, and followed the creature inside. The beast lead him past a long hall that terminated in what appeared to be an office, and into a large dining room with a vaulted ceiling. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, filled with small candles. On the walls were mounted the taxidermied heads of giant snakes, a few skulls of beasts he didn't recognize, and several paintings of great sea battles. He recognized his mother's signature on the paintings.

The dining table was a solid slab of oak, and it was surrounded by several chairs, each of which had been upholstered in snake-skin. On the table were silver pitchers full of water, beautifully decorated vases filled with fresh flowers, and golden serving dishes piled high with boiled eggs and exotic red and yellow fruits. At the head of the table was a wooden chair like the others, except that the letter 'B' was engraved into the wood. On it sat Blade, the pirate-king.

"Ah, Master Hagglethrump," he smiled. "If you don't mind, is there any other name you go by? Hagglethrump is quite the mouthful."

"My name is Scully."

"Good t' meet you, Scully. Would you care t' dine with me?"

Scully took a seat. The chair made a loud noise as he pushed it back along the wooden floor. He felt important, sitting at the table, and he tried to smile back, but was too nervous to do so. He noticed a one-eyed weasel sitting at the other corner of the table, quietly taking notes.

"I would… be honored… sir."

Blade nodded, approvingly.

"Servant! Hore-doorves!"

The blind creature hobbled up to the table, and delivered two plates of crab cakes seasoned with black pepper and onions. Scully took them with delight. The whole room smelled like food.

"So, Scully, I heard that you were aboard the crew of the _Zephyr_. You're a little young t' be a Waverunner."

"Yeah. I was the cabin boy. But really I was there to kill Atlas. I was mad because he killed you. I mean, I thought he did."

Blade laughed. "So, you're a bit surprised that I'm still here breathin', eh?"

"Yeah."

"And who put in the head of a little leveret a plot t' try t' kill a beast like Atlas? Seems like quite the task for somebeast so young."

"Um…" Scully began to fidget. "My tutor. His name was Brother Sage. He thought you were dead. He cried about it a lot."

Blade let out a deep sigh, rolled his eyes, frowned, and nodded. The crab cakes were finished. Blade snapped his fingers.

"Servant! Supper!"

The creature again found his way slowly to the table, feeling the floor cautiously with his bare feet as he walked, and delivered two steaming hot bowls of skilly 'n' duff. Scully tasted the delicious, savory pudding, although it took only a moment for him to realize that the dark brown cubes were animal meat.

The one-eyed weasel snickered. "Like the taste of Mongoose, kid?"

Blade sighed and darted a threatening glance at the weasel. "Either you shut your mouth, or I shut it for you. Are we clear?" He turned apologetically to Scully. "Nevermind him. It's a native bird. Eat up."

The weasel lowered his head, and Scully continued eating.

"Don't you miss your family back home?" Blade asked him.

"Well…" Scully said, "maybe my mom, sometimes. But my dad is so busy, I never saw him anyway. And my brother Cyril -"

"Who?" Blade asked.

"Cyril. My older brother."

"Who named him that?" Blade looked at him intently.

"Um… my mom."

"Why?" Blade was no longer eating the skilly 'n' duff.

"Um… I don't know," Scully shrugged his shoulders.

"How long did your mother know this 'Brother Sage'?"

"Uh… I don't know. Like, all my life. They went way back, I think."

"Did he tutor Cyril also?"

"Well... yeah, of course. But then Cyril left and went to military academy. And like I was saying, now he's married to this totally idiotic girl, Merlinda Sapwood, who -"

"Sapwood? Is she by chance related to General Sapwood?"

"Well… yeah, his daughter. But the whole family are stupid idiots. Even General Sapwood is pretty stupid too. That family just exists to go to fancy parties and eat fancy food and get drunk."

Blade began eating again, and he chuckled. "Tell me, my dear Scully. How stupid is General Sapwood?"

Scully began speaking more enthusiastically. "Like, they say he's in charge of the defenses of Salamandastron, but he isn't really _in charge_. Whenever Atlas isn't around, everyone just does whatever they want, they never get in trouble. They skip drills and go eat extra meals in the cafeteria. He gets so drunk at night that he sleeps until noon the next morning. "Slow as sap," they call him. And what's crazy is that he's secretly, like, totally illiterate! That's how my brother got in good with the family and got permission to marry Merlinda. He became a page and helped write up orders for the old man. Now he just writes up the orders on his own, and Sapwood signs whatever he writes."

Blade smiled. "This calls for some grog, eh? Ever had grog, Scully?"

"Nope."

"Oh, it's a right old pirate favorite. Servant! A tankard of grog for me and my dear friend, Scully here."

The servant brought in two large growlers of grog. The taste was horrific at first, but after a few swallows a warm feeling filled his body, and he began to relax. His mind was at ease and he giggled between sentences.

"So, tell me about Salamandastron."

"It's totally not what it used to be," Scully said. They got so focused on hunting down pirates outside that nobody focuses on what's inside. I mean," he paused to giggle more, "they write these reports, because they've got to have something to keep their jobs, and all the reports say 'we should build back our defenses' or whatever, but…" he began giggling uncontrollably.

"Go on," Blade motioned.

"But they just copy the report from the last season, because nothing ever changes!"

Blade smiled.

"And also… so many ships come and go nowadays, it's like a port or whatever. They've got a huge market on the beach. So they can't, like, actually stop every ship before it comes to port. So they've got a torch system when they first spot you on the horizon. If you light two torches, then three, then two, while you're still out at sea, that means you're a good guy and they don't send out a ship to investigate you. _Two-three-two, we trust you._ "

Blade nodded. "Servant! More grog!"

Scully started on his second growler of grog. He began to repeat himself a bit as he talked, trying to remember everything he had learned while sneaking around his father's office and stealing files. He started to become light-headed, and the words came out of his mouth before he could think about what he was saying.

"...Oh yeah, and there are catapults. They're ready and aimed to fire at any approaching vessel, but no one is manning them during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Oh, also, um, there are the otters. The otters are supposed to be a last resort if any enemy ships approach land, they'll swim out and try to board. Yeah. But the otters are almost never paying attention, they just play all the time."

Blade nodded, yawning slightly.

"Oh yeah, and they created an artificial reef, underwater. Um, you know. So that unless you come in from the southwest at a 240 degree angle you'll wreck."

"210 degrees?" Blade corrected him.

"Right, yeah, that's what I meant. Oh, and the northwest wall is really weak, it would fall down easily. I mean, um, if you could somehow sail a catapult or something."

"Or somethin'," Blade nodded.

"Oh yeah, and there's a secret escape from the Badgerlord's quarters. It leads to a cave on the beach, um, so he can get out in an emergency. Yeah. But I've sneaked back in it before, through the cave, and actually I walked in and I saw -"

Blade coughed. "Aye, you've told me this one already, dear Scully. One-eye, does it line up?"

"Aye, sir, it be linin' up with the texts," said the weasel.

"So, Scully, anythin' else you wanted t' say?"

Scully smiled a large smile. A question escaped his mouth.

"So, hey, Bladey," he said. "Dooo-did you know my tutor?"

Blade smiled. "Aye, a long time ago." he said. "It's surprisin' that I inspired him so much."

"Were you frrrrr...iends?"

"Aye, you could say that. I promised t' make him second in command, once."

"Wow. Wwwwwwow. Wowww." Scully slurred.

"He sent me these paintin's durin' my Terramort days," Blade pointed to the sea battles on the walls. "Lots of poetry, also, though I can't say I share his tastes. He recently sent me this."

Blade pulled out the dagger which Scully had brought with him, with the word 'Blade' on the side. He unscrewed the hilt of the dagger from the blade. Out of a compartment in the hilt fell a piece of rolled up parchment. He spread it out for Scully to see.

 _Dear Cy,_

I can only hope that you are still alive, and that this message in a bottle will reach you. See the enclosed charts and notes with my reconnaissance. I doubt the messenger will reach you, but if so, his name is Hagglethrump. He's as loyal as I. If you are out there, and you come back, please remember that I am still your second. Best, S.

"He calls you loyal."

"You know I am, ssssir."

"I know you're useful. But didn't you betray your family?"

"Uh..."

"Didn't you betray your ship-mates on the _Zephyr_?"

"Kinda..."

"Didn't you betray your fellow Waverunners when they were captive t' the snakes?"

"Well, uh…"

"Well, that's what I've been told. And what was your comrade's name, the hare? Flooferin' Dullwaters? And the shrew? Shuga said that you tortured him for information."

"I don't know."

"Yes, well... I know that Sage never was too adept at discernin' a beast's loyalty."

Scully looked at him, barely able to keep his head upright. He was out of grog.

"Servant! Dessert!"

The servant brought in with him one plate, with a small cake on it. The yellow cake was soaked with honey, and topped with almonds, dates, and figs. Scully's mouth watered as he looked at it. These foods were difficult to find on an island like this, and they must have come from the larder of the _Zephyr_.

Suddenly, the old hare began stuffing the cake in his own mouth.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Scully yelled at him. "Stop that!"

The old servant kept scarfing down the cake. Scully glanced at Blade, who was calmly screwing the blade of the dagger back onto its hilt, ignoring the blind servant's antics.

"Stop that! Why are you eating my cake?" Scully shouted at the hare, whose face was smeared with honey. Scully walked over and began kicking him. "You stupid old fool! Don't you have enough slop to eat?"

"This is for your father, master Hagglethrump," he replied.

He recognized the hare's voice. It was General Hriston.

"Now, run. Run! Run!"

With those final words, his body slumped down over the cake plate, lifeless. Scully stood above the old General's body, staring down at him, confused. He recognized a faint, mouse-like smell in the cake. Poison.

He looked up into the eyes of Blade, the pirate King.

He saw a ferret, intelligent, cunning, and immensely patient. He saw a pirate who could control his rage, ruled by his mind and not his feelings. He saw a leader with none of Atlas's weaknesses, a tyrant ten times more frightening. He saw a navy crossing the seas, and his brother welcoming them and surrendering to them. He saw an army spreading across all of Mossflower: woodlanders fleeing in panic, villages destroyed, innocents killed, babes screaming in terror, children without mothers.

He saw a fire consuming Salamandastron.

"I really must thank your teacher, Scully. I couldn't have done it without him. But if you are willing to betray your own, how do I know you won't betray me?"

Then, Gordon fell to the floor, the dagger in his chest.


	57. Don't Look Them in the Eye

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Don't Look Them in the Eye**

 _By: Vera_

 _With song written by Plink_

* * *

As Vera limped after one of Blade's pirates deep into the cave system, she rubbed at her wrists where the chains had cut into the skin. She still did not quite believe her luck. Even after everything that had happened over the last few days, Ciera had still identified her as part of the crew.

She began to smell the aroma of some sort of fish cooking and her heart lifted. Working in the kitchens was something she at least felt confident in.

 _Maybe this won't be too bad. I just need to keep my head down, and prove to Blade and Ciera that I'm trustworthy. I've been through worse. It's uphill from here._

"Ahoy, Fishlug," the pirate called as they entered the cavern which contained the kitchen. "Got new help for you."

A long, rough table made of jungle wood ran down the center of the room. At this table sat a handful of beasts with tankards of drink and the pieces of some sort of gambling game in front of them. Along the far wall were two large ovens which bore a resemblance to the smaller galley stove that had been on the _Silver Maiden._ A couple open fireplaces were next to them and each held a big metal cauldron over glowing embers. Chimneys had been carved into the stone wall and most of the smoke drifted out of those. Beyond them, Vera could see another tunnel and at least one door.

A lean rat in a stained apron looked up from his gambling. "A new one, eh?" He ambled over to Vera and her guide and gave her a critical once over. "Well, I seen dung beetles cleaner than ye, but looks ain't everything."

Vera's tail twitched. _They didn't exactly give me time to wash up, you greasy piece of leftovers._

"Can ye cook?" Fishlug asked.

Vera smiled. "Of course. I have spent the last twelve seasons in the employ of..."

"Good," Fishlug interrupted. "Ye can help Clus with the slaves' gruel."

Her laugh came out like a short series of barks. "No, you misunderstood me. You see, I am quite accomplished in nearly every..."

"I didn't ask for yer lip, vixen!" He slammed a paw down on the wooden table. "I said ye'll help Clus! Ye don't like that, ye can just march yerself right on down to Torin and work with the slaves, savvy?"

"I... Yes... Yes, sir." she said.

"What's yer name, vixen?"

Vera stared at the stone floor. "Vera Silvertooth. Sir."

"Oi, Clus." Another rat straightened up from the table. "Got yerself a new assistant. This be Vera." Fishlug shoved Vera toward him. "Show her where to get cleaned up, teach her the ropes, and don't take no sass."

"Aye, sir!" Clus stood and sauntered over to her with the rolling gait that she'd noticed a lot of the seafaring beasts seemed to have. "Well, ain't you as ripe as a week old fish!" he chortled. "Them snake-eaters musta had you in their pits, eh? Come on then. We got a couple hours before the slaves get their breakfast. You'll give any one of those miserable beasties a challenge for stinky if you don't clean up some first."

Vera opened her mouth three separate times to interject, but quick talking Clus never seemed to notice. She was left trailing along behind him as he led her through the tunnels.

* * *

"Up, lazy bones! Work to do!" Fishlug bellowed and Vera sat up with a gasp. The rat stood over her and she scrambled to her feet, leaving the sack behind that she'd used as a blanket. "Git yerself over to those cauldrons and git them below!"

Vera's apron, slightly cleaner after the scrubbing she'd given it earlier, hung from a sharp bit of rock that protruded from the wall. She grabbed it and scuttled away. "Yes, sir."

In the main kitchen area, Clus already had one of the heavy iron kettles on a wooden trolley. "What took you, vixen?"

"You said you would wake me," she protested as she looked about for another set of the heavy cloths Clus had tucked in his apron strings. Spotting them, she grabbed them and used them to protect her paws from the hot handles of the cauldron. It took nearly all her strength to get it up and onto the second trolley. An unpleasant smell wafted out and she gagged.

"Shift yerself," Fishlug yelled. "Them slaves can't get ta work til they get their food. Ye'll have Torin to answer to if ye don't stir yer stumps."

Large iron pot loaded, she followed after Clus as they trundled them out of the kitchen and into the stone corridors. At the first intersection they came to, they took the path that led down deep into the mountain. She grit her teeth, dug her footpaws in as much as the rock would allow, and pulled back on the trolley to keep it from rumbling down the tunnel like a runaway juggernaut.

Tired and breathless, they finally reached level ground.

"Ugh, what's that smell?" she said with a gag as a wave of rotten egg odor hit her.

"That'd be the brimstone. Captain Blade's new gold. Ain't so bad right now. In the afternoons, we gotta go up to where they actually mine the stuff. Here, we're just at the cells where the slaves are at night. We give them breakfast and they go work for the day."

When they reached the slave cells, Vera froze. Two large, long cells ran the length of the cavern on either paw and pressed up against the metal bars were the most horrific mockery of living beasts she'd ever seen. Red eyed and gaunt, with fur missing and even some limbs, they stood mostly silent with bowls held in trembling paws. Some hacked and coughed from where they were curled up against the bars. A few less pitiful beasts stood scattered among them, wearing the tattered uniforms of the Waverunners.

Clus shoved up against her and handed her a long wooden ladle. "Quit gawking. Give each beast a scoop. No more than that."

Trembling, Vera took the ladle and did as she was told. She pushed her trolley along the row of bars, then ladled the food into all the bowls she could reach. A few more steps, then more ladling. The smell made her sick, a horrific combination of rottenness and death. At first, she tried to meet eyes with the slaves. Half of them wouldn't even look at her. Some that did glared at her in hate, as if she were personally responsible for their situation. After a while, she stopped looking in those faces and focused only on the shaking bowls.

"Hurry up, Vera!" Clus snapped. He'd finished his half of the room and stood with an empty cauldron. Vera was barely half way down her row. She saw a flurry of movement in the cell, but ignored it and tried to fill bowls faster. Clus stomped over and began ladling the slop out as well. "Slower than a half-dead slave you are!"

This task finally done, Vera wheeled her now empty cauldron back up the tunnel and towards fresh air and life. "How... how do you stand it?" she said, trying to wipe her watering eyes while still pushing the cauldron up the tunnel.

Clus shrugged. "That's easier than what we'll do in the afternoon. First we go down and feed them iron mine slaves, then we gotta take a pot up where the slaves work the brimstone. Smells worse there."

Vera stared at him. _I didn't mean the smell... those beasts... those poor beasts... living like that._

Finally, they reached the kitchens again where Vera wanted to collapse from exhaustion. Clus seemed hardly winded.

"What took ye!" Fishlug screamed. "Blade's crew has to be fed too! Ye think this is a vacation?"

Clus ducked under a swing from Fishlug's spoon. "New blood, Luggy. They always slow."

"Aye!" He snapped as he caught Vera a hard rap across the ears that made her yelp. "She'll speed up or she'll be joining them slaves down there!"

Vera's paw froze in rubbing her head and her eyes went wide. _Join them..._ "I'll get faster! I promise!"

"If yer smart, ye better. Now get to work on washin' them dishes over there."

Vera hurried off, tail halfway tucked between her legs. Only a few days ago, she thought her life couldn't get any worse than being stuck in the galley of the _Silver Maiden_. Now she looked back on that with fondness. She found a washrag in the basin of soapy salt water and started scrubbing. The salt stung her paws, which had been rubbed raw by hauling the trolley. She grit her teeth and kept scouring.

After cleaning up from the noon meal, Clus shoved a pair of wooden buckets at her that contained all the peelings, pits, and scraps from the pirate crew's last two meals. "Throw that lot in the slaves' cauldrons with some water. Add in some of those roots, enough to make it thick."

Vera set the buckets near the empty cauldrons and began prodding through the mess with a spoon. Fish bones, unwashed peelings of vegetables, leftover biscuits and porridge... Vera swallowed hard and checked over her shoulder. Clus had left the room with the others, leaving her alone.

 _No beast deserves to eat this sort of slop._

She lugged the buckets over to the kitchen's single big door. This led out onto the side of the mountain facing the ocean. The narrow terrace had been cultivated with different herbs and a few garden plants. This was also where they hurled the wash water earlier and Vera figured it would do just as well for the undesirable scraps. She flung them out far, wincing as she heard splattering on the mountainside.

She limped back to the room where Dead Rock's food supply was stored and picked out a handful of vegetables and other ingredients, trying hard to make the supplies look untouched. Back to the cauldrons she hurried and gathered up a few of the big roots Clus had pointed out. She rinsed everything quickly and set about peeling and chopping as fast as her paws could manage. By the time the others had returned, she had both pots simmering away. It didn't look like much and Vera wouldn't have served it to anybeast if she'd had her way, but at least it was palatable.

Clus came over and gave it a stir. Vera's stomach did a queer flip flop as he peered into the bubbling mess. He glanced once at her with narrowed eyes and then walked off.

Vera exhaled slowly and got back to work on preparations for the pirates' dinner.

The time for the afternoon feeding arrived and Vera once again followed Clus down into the depths of Dead Rock, but this time they only had one pot and they both worked to guide it down the sloping tunnels. Vera's blistered paws oozed blood by the time she reached the cells. This time, much to her surprise, the slaves were already out, shuffling slowly up the tunnel to grab their bowls and form a line in front of the cauldron.

"Same as this morning," Clus told her. "One scoop and they move on. We don't have nearly as many beasts here because these are just the slaves what work the iron mine. The rest are up in the crater getting the brimstone. We go there next with the other pot."

Pushing a full pot up the tunnels, even with help, proved to be by far the worst experience in Dead Rock so far. Even Clus was winded when they reached the summit. Though the sky shown a brilliant blue above them, the steep sides of the extinct volcano's crater loomed all around. Here, the air was thick with the smell of rotten eggs. Sickly yellow dust coated everything below. Vera started to cough.

"Here," Clus tossed her a red length of cloth. "Wrap that over your nose and mouth. Stuff burns worse than an otter's hotroot soup, don't it?"

He did the same with a red sash he'd been wearing, untying it from around his waist and then binding it over his snout.

The slaves lined up, miserable and trembling, to await being served. Some of them wore scraps of cloths over their faces as well, but some went without. Vera and Clus both worked quickly to fill the bowls and get out of this hell.

"Keep it moving, ye lazy beasts," a voice called out above everything and Vera chanced a glance up. She saw a black striped gray wildcat strolling up the line, a short whip of many tails in his paw. Movement on the other side of the room caught her eye and Vera recognized a familiar otter. _Of course, Chak was the slavedriver on the_ Silver Maiden. _Why wouldn't he hold the same position here?_ Her stomach did another flop.

As the last of the slaves filed away, Vera dropped her spoon in the pot and stretched.

"So," a voice said behind her, causing her to jump. "Ye must be new 'ere."

Vera whirled around, bumping her elbow on the pot as she did so. She rubbed it gingerly and gave the wildcat slavedriver as pleasant a smile as she could, before remembering that the scarf over her muzzle hid that. "Yes, sir. Arrived last night."

"With the new crop o' slaves, correct?"

"Ah, yes."

Vera winced as the wildcat laid a paw on her shoulder and dug his claws into her fur. The smell of death wafted off of him and she gagged. "Listen closely, vixen. I be in charge 'ere. What I say goes. Now, I heard tell from a little birdie that ye fixed the slaves' gruel today, after tossing out perfectly good food scraps intended fer the slaves. Now, we don' like things goin' ta waste 'round 'ere. So I'm goin' ta tell ye this once. If ye want ta live a long life outside o' the mines, ye'd best watch yer step. It's no fur off my back ta get another set o' paws up 'ere." He gave her shoulder another squeeze.

Vera gulped as the wildcat released her. She turned back to the cauldron and suddenly felt a paw on her tail. The fur on the back of her neck prickled and she heard him purr. "By the way. Beautiful tail ye 'ave 'ere." He ran his claws through it almost lovingly and stalked away, lashing his whip at a few slaves who were too slow in finishing their food. With a shudder Vera noticed that this wildcat, unlike others she had known, had no tail.

"That's Torin," Clus told her as he started to push the cauldron trolley back into the tunnels. "He runs the brimstone mine."

That night when her duties were done, she limped down to a small cove Clus had shown her, where Blade's ships sat at anchor. She waded into the sea and tried to scrub away the smell of brimstone, gruel, and death.

* * *

Fishlug, Clus, and the other cooks went off to gamble and hang out with their respective crews each day after lunch, leaving Vera with the clean up and the preparations of the slaves' afternoon gruel. Too scared after her conversation with Torin to even think of throwing out ingredients again, she only experimented with different combinations of scraps in the two different pots so that it didn't taste quite so awful.

Vera couldn't decide if these few quiet hours were a blessing or a curse. She relished the quiet and the time to herself, yet it also gave her mind time to think about all the horrors of Dead Rock that she'd seen. She tried to fall back on her old standby methods of thinking of something else, anything other than what she was trapped in.

So as she scrubbed dishes, she found herself humming her way through all the songs she knew. Having spent half her life traveling, Vera had an impressive collection of songs memorized. From pirate shanties to mole digging songs, hare marching tunes, mouse hymns, and rat drinking songs, she knew songs sung by nearly every species to ever dwell in Mossflower.

"Hi, Vera!" a young voice said at her elbow.

The vixen yelped and whirled around, slapping the young rat across the face with the wet rag. Plink stumbled back with a squeak of her own.

"Plink! Dang it! Don't do that to me!" she snapped as she took a step back. She rubbed her blistered, sore paws through her headfur before lowering them. She stared at them briefly, trembling and shaking almost as bad as the slaves she served each day. She clenched them tight and took several deep breaths. "Sorry. I'm sorry. You startled me."

"I didn't mean to. Just saw you were alone an' that slug-slurper Fishlug wasn't around, so I thought..." Plink turned her head to the side and gave Vera a funny look. "Is somethin' wrong?"

Vera stalked away, her tail swishing behind her. "Of course not."

Plink pattered after her. "You look like you've been cryin'."

"Well, I haven't!" She snapped, though she touched the fur on her cheeks. They were damp. She scrubbed at her face with a forearm and stalked out the door to the little terrace garden. Plink continued to follow.

The rat was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the ocean. "Vera... Have you seen Scully in the last four days?"

Vera stared out over the sea. When was the last time she'd seen the fluffy cheeked little hare? She hadn't really paid any attention. "I... haven't."

Plink gnawed at her thumbclaw and said nothing.

Vera closed her eyes and thought, even though it hurt. "He... might be with the slaves, but I don't remember seeing him and if he is down there, he hasn't tried to talk to me."

"Maybe I'll check there, just in..."

"No!" Vera snapped and her eyes sprang open as she faced the rat. "Plink, listen to me. You do not want to go down there. Not for any reason. The way they treat the slaves..." Her voice broke and she pressed clenched paws against her eyes. "Save yourself the nightmares and just don't go. I... I'll try to look for him this afternoon."

Plink frowned mutinously, but finally nodded.

Awkward silence followed for a time.

"What was that song you were singin' before? About comin' to tea?"

Vera swallowed the lump that suddenly seemed to form. "Oh... that's just a silly thing my friend used to sing, every time he came to the tavern where I worked. It was kind of a joke. His way of letting me know he was there."

"Can I hear it? I like songs!"

Vera picked at her claws, then looked down into the eager eyes of the youngster. "I... I'm not really that good of a singer."

Plink shrugged. "Sounded fine to me. Please?"

"Let me get back to work. Those dishes won't wash themselves. I'll sing it while I wash, if you insist."

Plink followed her back inside and Vera bent over the washtub once more.

 _"Now friend I've been gone for so many dry days_  
 _and the dust from the road was my pillow._

 _There's nobeast abroad who can soften my ways,_  
 _and none share the secrets that we know._

 _And no water or spirits can banish my thirst_  
 _and no kind-hearted stranger can heal me-_

 _May I please come to tea?_  
 _May I please-oh-please come to tea?_

 _in your little fine house with the leak in the roof_  
 _and the sun shining bright in the kitchen?_

 _I've traveled the world but all I long to do_  
 _is to eat all your cookies and listen_

 _as you tell me the gossip you heard in the store-_  
 _can't say that I know any more than before_  
 _but I'll share every story I've heard and then more!_

 _May I please come to tea?_  
 _May I please-oh-please come to tea?"_

* * *

Vera knocked with a bandaged paw on the door to Captain Blade's rooms. She had to wait only moments before she heard him say, "Enter."

The vixen opened the door and limped into the comfortable, opulent room. "You wanted to see me, Captain." Then she started and gave a quick nod to the other ferret in the room. "Captain Ancora."

Captain Blade smiled. "Yes, Miss Silvertooth. Captain Ancora and I were just talkin' about you. It was brought to my attention that the mongooses took some of your belongings and you had yet to reclaim them. Please do so now." He gestured to a familiar woven basket sitting on a low table in the room.

Vera's ears perked. Licking her lips, she stepped up to the basket. She noticed her cooking knife first. She picked it up and tucked it in her apron strings. She saw the crab mallet underneath a few other items and shifted them aside. As she did so, she spotted her amulet nestled in the bottom of basket. She caught hold of it under pretense of getting her mallet out, and gripped the jewel in her paw.

As she straightened, she realized somebeast stood close beside her. She froze and glanced up fearfully at Ciera Ancora

"Still out for the treasure, Vera?" Ciera sounded disappointed.

"Please, Captain Ancora. Captain Blade said I could have my things." She swallowed. "This... this isn't treasure, exactly. It's got... sentimental value to me. It's a family heirloom. It means a lot to me."

Captain Blade sauntered over. Vera cringed as he reached down and took hold of the bit of silver chain that hung from her paw. It slid, link by link, out of her grasp, until Blade had it free. "Why does a cook need a shiny trinket like this?"

Vera darted glances between the two captains. "Please. It was my mother's. It was stolen from my family once already and I had to... work so hard... to get it back." Her chest tightened as she looked at the ruby amulet, spinning slowly on it's chain.

Ciera said to Captain Blade. "We've already had a few issues from this thing."

"Perhaps it would be best to toss it in the ocean and be done with it."

"No!" Vera cried. "You can't do that! My brother died trying to protect it. I can't lose it again! It's all I have left..." She bit off the last words. _I can't believe I just said that... Stupid._ She swallowed once. "Please. It's the only thing I have to remember my brother by."

Ciera raised an eyebrow and said in a dry tone. "Your brother traded his life... for that? He must not have been worth that much."

Vera sucked a breath in and her paw tightened on the handle of her crab mallet. But Ciera still stood there, tall and threatening, with a cutlass at her side. Vera sank down to a crouch and placed a paw over her eyes as tears threatened.

"Hmm, tell you what," Blade said, coiling the silver chain in his paw. "I'll hang on to this little trinket of yours, fox. You prove yourself loyal to me and stay out of trouble, and I'll return it to you when the time is right."

Vera took several slow deep breaths and raised her head to look Captain Blade in the eye. She saw a smirk there, as if there were some hidden joke she were unaware of. With her options limited now, she saw only one safe choice to make. "Yes, Captain."

"There," he said with a laugh as he stuck the amulet into a pocket. "Not nearly as foolish as your dearly departed brother, are you? You're dismissed, Miss Silvertooth."

"Yes, Captain." Vera turned and went back out the way she had come. Once the door was closed, she thumped a clenched paw against the wall.

* * *

Another morning came and Vera followed Clus down to the slave cells. She worked her way along the row of bowls, watching only for the end of them.

One beast with a brown coat like dull mud grabbed Vera's paw suddenly. She started out of her self-imposed trance and tried to pull back.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, looking up into the beast's dark eyes. She didn't want to get the slave in trouble. Though judging from the three brands on his face, he was already marked as a troublemaker. She took in the splash of dull, once-gold fur at his throat.

Much to her surprise, the pine marten winked and said in a very soft singsong. "May I please-oh-please come to tea?"

Vera blinked. And stared at him.

 _No... no... it's impossible._

"Hylan?" She whispered.

He smiled, but it was a tired, hurt, and oh, so sad smile. This couldn't be the carefree friend she remembered from _The Staff and Flask_.

"Heya, Vera. Viddles much improved since you came along. Ain't surprising, that..."

"Arr, git back!" Suddenly Chak Ku'rill was there, shoving Hylan back from Vera. "What d'ye think yer doin'?"

Hylan toppled back in the cell, and cowered there. The other slaves scattered from the bars, not willing to be too close to the slavedriver.

"Chak, no. It's okay!" Vera gasped out. "He... he was just thanking me for the meal. And it's very nice to feel appreciated for once."

The otter gave her a wary look. "'E ain't hurt ya?"

"No, no, not at all. I'm fine. He was just thanking me. That's all." She looked desperately up at Chak. "It's fine."

Chak looked between her and the cowering pine marten, gave a roll of his shoulders, and strode off. Vera let out a sigh of relief and Hylan stood up and returned to the bars. He picked up his bowl and held it out.

Vera filled it, but she returned her gaze to Hylan's branded face. His dark eyes glared at the slavedriver's back. All sign of cowering submission had vanished.

As Vera started to move down the line, his expression softened and he gave her a weak smile. "Chin up. We'll talk later."

Vera hardly noticed what she was doing as she filled the rest of the bowls. How many times had she walked right past Hylan, filling his bowl and not even noticing that he was there? Why did he wait so long to reveal himself?

As Vera finished off with the last slave and turned to trundle her trolley back up the tunnel, Chak opened the door to the cell, releasing Hylan and his cell mates for their day's work. Hylan gave her a wink as he walked past her, following the crowd of slaves.

She almost cried out.

Hylan's once beautiful chocolate brown tail... was gone.

She clapped a paw over her mouth and fought the waves of sickness that rolled over her. Eight seasons ago, Hylan had been one of the handsomest beasts she knew. His friends used to tease the pair of them, saying there was enough vanity between the two of them for an army of peacocks.

As Vera began the long, slow climb back up to the kitchen, she decided something.

 _I have to get Hylan out of here!_


	58. Baptism

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Baptism**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

Four days earlier, Crue had been led away from the sacrificial grounds and rejoined the mongoose tribe as the High Priest's "honored guest." Since that time, Shuga had her kept busy with seemingly menial tasks. She collected food for the tribe's use as well as for their tribute to the Fire God, often climbing trees to gather the ripest fruits. She helped the priests clean and restock the shrines out in the jungle, and at the same time she learned about the lesser gods that the shrines provided for. She ran messages between various members of the tribe, allowing her to learn many of the names of the mongooses.

In line with her profession, she was even permitted to spend a couple of hours with a female who took on the role of a healer when needed, and Crue was able to glean bits of information regarding the plants that were used. The only time she felt relaxed in those three days was when she watched Moka crush leaves and stems, taking in the scent of the exotic plants while being taught the names and qualities of each. If the day came where the threat of imminent death no longer loomed over her head, Crue thought she might actually enjoy staying on the island to learn more.

However, she worried every day about the others who were stuck in Dead Rock. She had no way of knowing whether or not any of them were still alive. Shuga claimed that those who entered the "Hellgates" perished in fire and brimstone. Regardless how much she told herself that it was just a metaphor, she couldn't stop the worst-case scenarios that ran through her brain from time to time.

When she was not out delivering dirt to the colliers or cutting lengths of twine for spear-makers, Crue was often kept under Shuga's watchful eye. Unless he was busy with personal matters, he was diligent to ensure she kept her mouth shut regarding the Captain Blade's identity. She'd agreed not to reveal the events that had transpired at the sacrificial grounds, and she intended to keep Shuga from finding an excuse to make her the next sacrifice to the Fire God.

In the closet Shuga had designated for her use, Crue was growing accustomed to sleeping on the ground. She would have preferred an extra blanket to go between her and the dirt floor of the mongoose den, but Shuga had decided that such luxuries were wasted on the "teeny beastah." Regardless, she found herself resting quite well after the previous day's work.

Mid-morning on the fourth day, Shuga - with Cure in tow - and a small entourage traveled to Dead Rock. The High Priest was to confer with the Fire God, conveying the mongoose's tribute and gratitude as well as gain wisdom and instruction from their deity. Bone rattles shook, small drums were beat, and Shuga led his followers toward the mountain as their fervor grew with every step. When they reached the entrance to the mountain, Shuga turned to address his people.

"I go to honor the Fiyah Gott, ayah!" he called out, raising his paws into the air.

"Fiyah Gott! Fiyah Gott!" the mongooses shouted out excitedly. "Honah te Fiyah Gott!"

"Te powah ef te Fiyah Gott weel speer me from mountain 'ellgates. No beastah enter an' live 'cept under 'is powah!" He lowered his paws and turned toward Crue, who was fully prepared to wait outside with the crazed brutes. "Teeny beastah has asked to speek te Fiyah Gott and I tek 'er wit' me. If 'e weesh, she weell enter mountain 'ellgates an' no die."

One of the mongooses showed mild concern upon hearing that Crue might die in the mountain, but the rest remained caught up in their state of religious fervor, their eyes only for the priest. Crue also looked up at Shuga curiously, but said nothing to contradict him. _He doesn't want me running loose in the village, and he doesn't want me tampering with his zealots. I'd be flattered he finds me such a threat if it wasn't so annoying!_

Shuga led her inside, through the wide atrium and along the winding network of tunnels that she vainly attempted to catalog as they walked. After a while one of the tunnels ended in a large bronze wall with three guards keeping watch over the closed door. Upon their approach, one of the guards knocked. As the door opened, Shuga addressed the squirrel. "You steh out he'ah."

"As you wish," Crue replied with only the smallest hint of sarcasm before he left her with the guards.

"I ne'er knew squirrels make good pets," a burly stoat remarked when the door was shut. Noting the ceremonial robe, sash, and necklace Crue wore, he prodded the surly weasel to his left. "Yer lil' dubbin could dress 'er up 'n put 'er on a shelf." The weasel cracked a small smile, which encouraged the stoat further. "Ye know, I used t' 'ave a newt 'bout the size o' 'er 'ead. Won'er if a squirrel could live off bugs like 'e did."

"Don' talk 'bout food, Surly," the other stoat grumbled. "I got no breakfast thanks t' this post!"

"Aye, Bruce," the first stoat replied, "'bout time fer a nip." He took two steps closer to Crue, who was more put off by his smell than his words. "An' I see some'un not doin' nothin'."

Crue looked over at the stoat, her expression neutral. "I was instructed to stay here."

"The Cap'n 'll be a while. You get us some grub right quick 'en yer owner'll never know the difference." His grin turned a shade vicious as he added, "If ye don', I'll 'ave t' punish ye for tryin' t' escape."

The healer read between the lines. _Doomed if I do, doomed if I don't._ "How do I find the kitchen?"

After a brief set of instructions that mostly consisted of "ask someone if you get lost," she set off at a brisk pace toward the kitchen. How the mountain could have so many tunnels going every which-way, she couldn't guess, but a corner of her mind wished she had the time to find that out. She did her best to find the tunnels that the stoat had told her about, but spent a fair amount of time looking for and asking the occasional passer-by for directions. Many assumied she was a slave out for a lark until she told them that Surly had sent her on this task. _He probably intended for me to lose my way and fall down a shaft,_ Crue considered. _They're probably having a good laugh about how I'm never coming back._

She didn't see as many pirates as she thought, but there were definitely enough to keep an eye on her in the dim torchlight. She looked to see who was nearby to ask directions from when she spotted a fluffy red tail disappear around a corner. Picking up her pace to catch up, she saw a vixen pushing a heavy wooden trolley up the path, occasionally grunting with effort. Crue took a closer look and gasped when she recognized her as the one who had been in the cell next to her four nights ago.

"Wait," Crue called out to the vixen after checking to make sure no one else was in sight. "I need to speak with you!"

"I'm… busy," she replied as she pushed.

Crue looked at the large empty cauldron on the trolley and back at the vixen's lean frame and cloth wrapped paws. The lady's arms shook slightly with the effort and the squirrel couldn't help but wonder how long she'd been bearing that burden. "Let me help."

When Crue took one of the pawholds, the vixen finally looked over. In an exhausted voice, she asked, "Are you a new kitchen slave?"

"Sorry, but no. You were in the cell next to me in the mongoose pit, but that already feels like an eternity ago to me."

"Tell me about it."

The two began to push the cart up the slope and Crue thought she could see a twinge of relief on her cohort's face. "I'm Crue."

"Vera," the vixen responded.

When Vera didn't say anything else, Crue searched for a way to continue the conversation. "So, what do they have you doing here?"

"Waste disposal… All Blade's men take their garbage and put it in this pot here. Just add a bucket of water, a pinch of despair, and a dash of false hopes, and I deliver them a one-course meal fit for the fine folks working the mines."

Crue was taken aback by the bitterness of Vera's response. "The slaves are fed garbage?"

"Close enough." In a sudden burst of annoyance, Vera stopped and rounded on Crue. "What is it you want? No one helps anyone but themselves here, so you must want _something._ "

Guiltily biting her lip, Crue responded, "All I want is to know if my friends are still alive."

Vera sighed and resumed pushing the trolley forward. "Who is it you're looking for?" Crue gave a brief description of Robert, but she seemed to know all of the others. Vera's face fell a bit and the squirrel reluctantly asked how many of them had died. "Unfortunately, they're all alive."

Crue heard the word "alive" before her mind registered the "unfortunately." Ears twitching slightly in confusion, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Some of your friends are working for Captain Blade, but most are working in his brimstone mine."

The healer's mind was brought back to her book, _From Bane to Balm_ , remembering a chapter dedicated to the dangers and benefits of brimstone. While it had its uses, the means used to acquire it came at great risk and often great harm to the miners. The image of Robert, paws covered in sores and every breath a small torture in itself, came unbidden to her mind and she froze. _Robert!_ her mind shouted. _Tooley! Reedox!_

Vera saw the horror on Crue's face. "I take it you know a thing or two about brimstone."

Crue nodded. "How long are they down there?"

"Sunrise to sundown."

"No!" Tears began to flow as she shook her head. _I need to do something, I have to find a way to help them._

She went over the symptoms that one would exhibit by touching and breathing in brimstone and wondered if there was anything that could be done to lessen its effects or heal the current damage it caused. Despite not having her supplies, she ran through her mental catalogue of every herb she could think of and weighed whether or not it could be of use. One after another, after another failed to measure up and the only cure she could come up with was _"_ _get them out of there!"_ Roughly translated, Crue knew she could do exactly nothing.

Feeling the oncoming loss of composure, she continued pushing as she tried to keep talking, though the strain in her jaw made speech slightly difficult. "What happened to Plink and Scully? Chak and Tooley?"

Crue was glad to hear that Plink was alright and somewhat less pleased with Tooley's assignment. Hearing that Chak had once more been tasked with maintaining discipline among the slaves, her brow furrowed and the fur on the back of her neck stood on end. Was the otter a less than appreciated crewmate as the fox before her, given a job he now found distasteful? Or did he return to the comforting embrace of old habits? She chose not to make a judgement until she found out more.

"Um… have you... talked with them?"

"No, not really."

Her claws clenched painfully around the pawhold as she whispered, "Are there any plans for escape?"

Vera shrugged, though whether she didn't know or didn't want to say in public was a toss-up. Crue didn't know Vera. The vixen had been aboard the _corsair_ ship when Blade attacked. For all she knew, she would inform Captain Blade or Shuga of their conversation after Crue left.

They passed the rest of the time in silence until they arrived at the kitchens. Another rat was in the room, peeling potatoes while a nearby pile of carrots waited their turn. Clus sneered at Vera when she entered, but paused when Crue and her priestly garb followed her in.

Before the rat could speak up, Crue wanted to make sure she completed the task Surly set out before her and asked Vera for a bit of food for the three guards. As the vixen showed her, Crue grabbed what she needed and turned to leave. She was halfway to the door when she realized that the cook might provide the only chance the healer would have of contacting her comrades, and she formed a hasty plan.

Vera fiddled with the bandages on her paws and wincing in pain. Sympathizing with the cook, Crue took a few steps toward her before calling out, "Let me take a look."

Vera stopped, but her eyes flicked in Clus's direction. "I really should be getting back to work."

Crue looked straight at Clus, summoning her best _"_ _I know what I'm doing and will brook no argument"_ expression. "As a healer, I can assure you that less pain will lead to greater productivity. The less she hurts when transporting food, the faster she'll be."

Vera's expression hinted that she wasn't so sure Crue's claim was as beneficial as the squirrel claimed. She laughed nervously. "Not that I was complaining."

Despite the rat's obvious position of authority, Crue was determined to keep him from interfering. After the span of three silent breaths, she walked over to the vixen and told her to sit down. Gently removing the bandages, she looked to see if there was any sign of infection. She made a concerted effort to mutter under her breath, click her tongue in disapproval, and twitch her tail from side to side.

In the few seconds that her tail blocked her face from Clus's line of sight, she whispered to Vera, "Can you get a message to a friend for me?" She moved her tail and prodded one of the smaller blisters. "Does it hurt there?" she asked, giving Vera a meaningful look.

Vera nodded. "Stop poking it!"

"Sorry," Crue apologized, satisfied with the answer. She had no clue whether or not she could trust the vixen to deliver a message. Vera could turn right around and accuse Crue of being a conspirator, but with her limited options Crue had to take that risk. She bent over Vera's handpaws again, her tail continuing to twitch, occasionally near her face. "Tell Robert or Chak… Crue has a plan…"

Crue stood back up and finished her message at a normal volume. "It will take some time… but you will be fit as a fiddle if you take care of yourself."

Vera nodded and all Crue could do was pray that her message would make it to at least one of them. She removed the white sash from her waist and grabbed a clean knife before she cut the fabric into strips. She cleaned Vera's paws with water before gently wrapping them, ensuring there was a little extra padding for comfort.

Knowing she would have to run to make it back to Surly in a reasonable amount of time, she briskly gave last minute instructions. "Now, use lavender and chamomile for the blisters. I must be going."

Not waiting for a response, she left the kitchen and set off for Captain Blade's quarters where Shuga would be waiting for her return. She did her best to stave off the images of her friends facing their grim fate as she traversed the tunnels that led through the mountain. It was a difficult exercise, replacing unwanted thoughts with less distressing ones. She also had to avoid getting in the way of the beasts who roamed the tunnels as they went about their business, sneering and jeering at the squirrel who walked by.

Arriving back at Blade's quarters, she handed the bag of food to Surly. Crue carefully kept her emotions from showing around the guards as she waited for the meeting to conclude. They leered and continued to poke fun at the squirrel, but their words fell on deaf ears.

The door opened from the inside and Crue was able to catch a glimpse of the room's inhabitants. Not only had Blade and Shuga been speaking, but another sharply dressed grey ferret reclined on a plush couch in the room as she waited for the mongoose to leave. Crue recognized her as one of the beasts that had shared a cell with Vera in the pit. The door was held open by a hideously disfigured beast that an appalled Crue could barely tell was once a hare. Looking away from the poor wretch, she heard a mirthful laugh come from both Blade and Shuga, as if whatever joke had been told was the height of the afternoon's merriment.

Four days ago, she came to blame Blade for this entire chain of events. Captain Blade, the notorious "King of the Pirates," the bane of the coastal regions, and the sworn enemy of Badgerlord Atlas Stormstripe. It was this beast's cunning that drove Atlas to madness, whose treasure had sparked this cursed expedition, and whose scheming had ultimately led to the deaths of scores of Waverunners and corsairs alike. By proxy, his paws were stained with the blood of Daggle, of Reedox, of Twilbee, and on and on and on.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Crue realized she could understand why Chak had killed Daggle, beating him to a bloody pulp before finishing him off. She'd seen Chak at his worst, but eventually witnessed acts of remorse, of selflessness, and she questioned whether or not her assessment that the otter was not deserving of redemption was premature. No such questions existed in her mind regarding Blade, who seemed to display only mirth and arrogance. All beasts had the right to live, and Crue maintained that ideal even now. She simply added an addendum to her philosophy, noting that rights could be forfeited by those who abused them.

It would take a beast like Chak to take down a monster like Blade, and as much as Crue wished to see the ferret's body sink into the depths of the ocean, she knew in her heart that that was something she could not accomplish herself. It wasn't so much her compassion that would hold her back; she simply doubted she could get close enough to poison his drink, let alone stick a knife in his back.

On the other paw, Shuga was another beast. While the mongoose trusted her about as much as Blade did, he kept her close. She saw that behind his mask of piety was another pirate hoarding his treasure, only instead of gold and jewels it was power he coveted. The Fire God's mask would be difficult to remove, so she decided to focus on removing Shuga's.

She only hoped she could win over the villagers before it was too late.


	59. Insomnia

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Insomnia**

 _By: Tooley_

* * *

It couldn't have gone wrong. It shouldn't have. Yet somehow, it did.

And all it took was three words.

 _"Yes. That's it."  
_  
The world had been a blur after that. He felt himself being unshackled, ripped away from the stake. Away from stillness and down deep into the mountain, where the twisting webs of tunnels and caverns were endless. Then there was the heat. The ever-present, stifling heat that seemed to grip at his very heart. He was lost, and he was all at once alone.

The Strange-Eye priest had said the mountain was a portal to Hellgates. Tooley believed him.

* * *

Tooley stared at the crackling, blazing fire. He blinked as one of the coals popped loudly, but he didn't flinch. Slowly, he turned around the end of the metal rod he'd been tasked with heating in the forge. He watched the way it brushed aside the coals, sending hundreds of little embers up into the air, escaping through the chimney shoot and into the crisp, free air outside of the mountain.

He watched one of the embers as it spun and curled up into the chimney. He'd forgotten what the outdoors felt like. What the sun on his fur felt like, or how the breeze ruffled his fur. Here in the mountain, there was only darkness and fire. It had been too long.

"Tooley!" came a shout. "Make sure th' rod don't burn out!"

Tooley glanced over to see an older weasel seated on a stool, gesturing urgently at the rod in his paw. He pulled back and removed the rod from the fire, then walked over to the other weasel who continued to wave a paw.

"Hurry, hurry!"

As soon as he was near enough, the older weasel reached over and grabbed the rod from Tooley's grasp. He held it over an anvil and slammed a hammer down upon the white-hot end. Sparks flew from the blows.

Tooley blinked at the weasel. What was his name, again? Run... Rol... it started with an R. He reached up, brushing past the dozens of new holes that scored his hat. Save for several sections, his cap had turned more into a mess of frayed strings than an actual cap. After a moment of searching, he found it. Rindclaw, that was the weasel's name.

The weasel who was shaking his head at the rod. "Agh, y'left it in there too long. It's useless."

Tooley watched the rod clatter noisily into the corner of the forge, useless. Unwanted. Unneeded.

Rindclaw ran a paw over his forehead, the gray hairs around his eyes and snout shimmering silver in the harsh firelight. "Go 'head an' put another in," Rindclaw said, gesturing over to the corner.

Tooley shuffled over to where Rindclaw gestured. He approached a large barrel where the rods were stored, pausing in front of it. No rods were poking out like they normally did. He looked inside to find that the barrel was empty. For a moment, he was unsure what to do.

"What's th' matter?"

"Ain't any more," Tooley said, pointing.

Rindclaw clicked his tongue in thought, and his whiskers twitched. After a moment, he tossed his hammer onto a nearby table, twisted around, and rested his back against the anvil. He shut his droopy eyes, then with a satisfied groan announced, "Welp, sounds like it's break time, then."

Tooley trudged forward in a listless daze. As he passed Rindclaw, he felt a paw grip his arm.

"Not you, lad," Rindclaw said. "I'll be needin' more ore for th' bloomery if we hope t' get this job done in time for Blade." Rindclaw reached into his heatstained apron and withdrew a small scrap of cloth. "Go find Stagumm, he's th' overseer down in th' iron mine. Tell him I need twice th' load from him. If it's beasts he needs, then tell him t' go bother Greffick about it. Got all o' that?"

Tooley nodded, taking the scrap of cloth and slowly biting a hole into its center. "Aye."

"Good." Rindclaw folded his arms and regarded him carefully. "Y' know th' way?"

Tooley shook his head.

Rindclaw reached up and tapped out a square shape on his head. "Long tunnel, down th' shaft, up th' wooden staircase, an' then through th' cave on yore right. Can't miss it."

Tooley followed Rindclaw's motion, pressing down on four holes at each corner of his hat. The image of a long, narrow tunnel, an old shaft, a wooden staircase, and a large cave entrance filled his mind. He nodded.

Rindclaw's lip twitched with a smile, and he clapped a paw against Tooley's shoulder. "Hurry along, now. Haven't even started on fixin' that bucket full o' forks fer suppin' time."

Tooley stuffed the cloth note into the pocket of his smith's apron and proceeded out of the door and into the cavernous hallway outside of the forge. Most of his time had either been spent within the forge or on a direct route from it to the pirate's quarters. He hadn't had time to wander around the Dead Rock, and part of him was glad for it.

Reaching an intersection, he looked for the first direction he had to take. He reached up to the corner of his hat.

"Long tunnel first..." he muttered to himself, turning down and hurrying along the tunnel.

He was where he needed to be.

* * *

This was supposed to be the right place. It wasn't.

Tooley bit at his lip. Had he taken a wrong turn somewhere before? He looked back down at the winding, wooden staircase, then back at the large, imposing set of doors at the end of the hallway.

Some part of him wondered if he'd come here on purpose. Here, there were answers.

Whether it was that, or curiosity, Tooley moved forward. He gripped the grand handles to the door.

He shouldn't be here.

The door groaned heavily as he pulled it open, peeking a head into the room.

Blade's office was a far cry from the forge. Candles dotted the room upon ornamental holders, their soft flames flickering at the disturbance of an intruder. Tooley took a step in, his boots sinking deep into a lavish rug that covered the entire floor. He scanned the various paintings that dotted the walls, shying away from those of beast's that seemed to be staring at him.

Despite there being none of the oppressive heat of the forge, Tooley felt no safer here.

He stopped as he saw something crimson shimmer in the corner of his vision. He turned to see the Fire God's outfit hanging up upon a stand, as vibrant and strange as it had been those many days ago. Tooley walked over to it, rubbing a paw across the rough, golden hem of the cloak as he stared through the empty sockets of the skull mask.

Beside the outfit, Tooley noticed a shut door against the wall. He glanced back at the massive doors, considered for a moment, then stepped up to the new door and wrapped a paw around the handle.

It opened with a creak, and Tooley took a tentative step through. He shivered as the cold of the room caressed him. It was completely dark, save for a glimmer to his left. Several flickering fireflies buzzed and clinked inside a large, glass bulb. Tooley peered inside the bulb, taking note of the small pile of dead fireflies that had amassed at the bottom.

What little light the fireflies cast revealed that the room was small and circular, with a shut door on the other side. Tooley looked up, and ended up craning his neck all the way back. There was no ceiling, only dark expanse. He took another step forward, pausing when he heard a wooden creak beneath his feet. He looked down and gasped. Below him was a wooden catwalk, and on either side, much like above, there was only black.

Unlike above, however, there was something down there. A heavy gasping sound reverberated from beneath.

Courage failing him, Tooley whipped around to leave back through the door, and he saw the rat too late.

Both beasts let out a surprised grunt as they collided with one another, falling to the ground in a tangled heap. Tooley hurriedly scuttled back, wide-eyed.

The rat, a pudgy, sour-faced beast, hit the ground on his rump. A wooden plate he'd been carrying fell from his grasp and rolled off into the darkness below , and Tooley saw several rotten fish follow it.

The rat seemed dazed for a moment as the silence was punctuated by the clatter of noise below. Eventually, the rat seemed to gather his bearings.

"Lookit what yew did!" the rat shrieked, hopping up to his feet and staring down at the foul-smelling juices that now stained his shirt.

Tooley tried to say something, but found that no words could come out. He scurried back and tried to get back up onto his feet. The rat snarled in response and took a step forward. Before he could react, Tooley felt a pair of paws slam flat into his chest. He stumbled back, footpaws pounding against the wooden catwalk, then the plank disappeared.

For the briefest moment, he saw the rat's eyes bulge in surprise, then he was falling. He didn't have time to cry out before his back struck a wall. He twisted harshly as gravity took effect, and began to tumble down a steep incline. Jagged rocks ripped at his arms and legs all the way down, and it was an agonizing second before he rolled to a stop on a cold, stony surface.

For a long time, he lay still. Between his heavy breaths, he heard the rat rush off above him and a door slam shut moments later. As soon as the world stopped spinning, he rolled over onto his side.

That's when he heard it. A cracked, rumbling breath. It repeated, and Tooley realized it was a voice.

"Who is it?"

Tooley looked up.

It was him. The Waverunner captain. The maddened beast from the slave pit. The "badger," as the pirates around the Dead Rock called him. He was sitting on a large stump of a rock, which seemed small in comparison. His back was turned to the weasel, but even at a distance Tooley could hear how his heavy breaths echoed up through the chamber.

He had thought the captain had died when Blade struck him with the mace. But here he was, and the badger had asked him a question.

"M'-m' name's Tooley, s-sir," Tooley croaked.

The badger raised his head and sniffed at the air. "You brought food."

Tooley looked around him, spying the faint form of the wooden plate at one side of the pit, and several fishes at the other.

"Just put it over there." The badger pointed a claw over to a rock shelf that jutted out next to him.

Understanding that the badger could turn and pounce on him at any time, Tooley complied with the command. Crawling forward, he picked up the overturned, wooden plate, then scooped three greasy fishes onto it. His paws were shivering as he slowly shuffled forward, waiting for a paw to suddenly lash out and clutch his throat. The badger remained still. Soon, he was within grasping distance of the massive beast. He could see the rise and fall of the badger's chest and hear the heavy, rasping breaths.

He held the plate out by its rim and stretched his body out as far as he could. The plate hovered just in front of the rock shelf for several seconds. Biting his lip and hoping his death would at least be swift, Tooley tossed out the plate and curled up. The plate clattered loudly against the rock, echoing up through the pit.

No pain came. Tooley glanced through a gap in-between his fingers. The badger hadn't moved. Slowly, almost lazily, the beast reached a massive paw out and rested it against the edge of the rock shelf. He began to pad at the surface in odd, uneven motions. Tooley watched with a confused expression as the beast continued to do this for several seconds, stopping only when his claw clacked against the rim of the plate. He reached over, wrapped a paw around the fish, and turned his head around.

Tooley looked up and had to choke back a shriek as he looked into the black, empty sockets where the badger's eyes should have been. Dried blood caked the raw rim of the badger's left eye. Deep gashes trailed down his cheek where the mace had gored him. His right eye was no better. Where the eyepatch used to be was pink, puffy skin, the fur long ago rubbed off and showing the beginnings of infection.

Tooley tried to look away, but found that he couldn't, watching as the badger drew up a fish and sunk his teeth into its head. He chewed slowly, unbothered or uncaring at the crunch of bones with each bite. He took another bite, ripping off a slimy peel of the fish's skin. Tooley took note of the droop of the badger's brow, the sunkenness of his cheeks, the dullness of his fur... Defeat scored every facet of the badger's eyeless expression.

This was the fearsome captain who had carved his way through dozens of pirates. Whose roars brought fear into even the eyes of the Strange-Eye warriors. And suddenly, Tooley was no longer afraid of him. He no longer saw a furious captain, or a maddened warrior. That beast had died.

The beast before him was nothing more than a broken husk.

In that moment, the heat from the forge, the darkness of the caves, and the betrayal of the captain seemed to disappear. It was simply Tooley and the badger, and deep within him, clutching at his heart, Tooley felt a pang.

 _This is wrong._

He didn't know what to do, but something had to be said-the silence was choking. Something to somehow justify the situation and make everything right. Someone like Vasily could have known how to encourage the badger. Ciera would have had him back up on his feet and working within the minute. Daggle could have convinced him that his situation was a blessing and not a curse.

But they weren't here.

Tooley reached out a paw and rested it on the badger's shoulder, and in a voice barely above a whisper, said the only thing he could think of, "'M sorry."

A long stretch of silence followed. Tooley saw the badger dip his head in a nod, then he resumed eating the fish.

Before Tooley could do anything else, he heard sounds above. Footsteps. They neared, then stopped on the catwalk above. There were hushed whispers, then the dark outline of a beast appeared over the wooden catwalk above.

"Ayy! Someone down there?"

Tooley hesitated, glancing back at the badger.

"'Ang on!" the voice said before Tooley could respond. "We'll get ye out!"

Shortly, a bucket tied to a rope was lowered down. Slowly, Tooley placed one foot into the bucket, then held tightly to the rope. He kept his eyes on the badger as he was pulled up. Removing his hat, he found an unmarked spot and chewed a hole into it.

He flipped his cap back onto his head just as he reached the catwalk and an arm reached down to help him up.

A lean searat pulled up him onto the catwalk, his chapped lips curled back into a broad grin as he said, "Well toss me 'eart!" He turned to look through the doorway. "Blade, lookit 'ere! We got ourselves a survivor!"

Tooley followed the rat's gaze and froze. Standing outside of the doorway was a lean, tall ferret. Captain Blade. The Fire God himself.

"So we do," Blade said, a curious grin playing upon his lips. He stepped forward. "What's your name?"

Tooley blinked. "T-Tooley."

Blade leaned a little past the doorway, glancing down into the darkness. "Tooley... Tooley, ah yes, you're one of the new recruits, from the last sacrifice. Rindclaw's new assistant, yes?"

Tooley nodded slowly.

"Quite the dark place for you t' be wandering into, Tooley," Blade said, reaching a paw down.

Tooley looked at the paw, then slowly took it. Blade heaved him up onto his feet.

"How'd ye manage t' get in there?" the searat asked, blinking at the pit.

"Err, I bumped inter a rat who were deliverin' some fish."

The searat's snout curled derisively. "Skidgel, the lout. Allers gettin' inter trubble."

Blade folded his arms. "I'm more curious why Skidgel even bumped into you in the first place."

Tooley felt his throat go dry. He felt his paw reach into the pocket of his apron and pulled out the scrap of fabric Rindclaw had given him. "I-I was lookin' fer a Mr. Stagumm."

Blade took the scrap while the searat guffawed loudly.

"Har! Well if that'll be me luck!" The searat plucked off his tiny, moth-eaten hat and did a wobbly curtsey. "Mr. Stagumm at yer service, me mate!"

Blade examined the scrap of cloth carefully. "What is this?"

"It's 'ow I remem'er things." He reached up and touched several holes in his hat. "Like me 'at. I know 'ow t' get to th' forge, an' where t' find me gloves... an' that th' mushroom soup ain't vury good."

The searat belted out another laugh, slapping Tooley hard on his back.

Blade smiled. "Well, _Mr._ Stagumm, how about you go gather Mr. Rindclaw? I'm sure he'd like t' hear that his new assistant is alive and well, and I'd like a chat with our survivor friend."

"Aye, cap'n!" Stagumm strutted over to the door, shoulders still shaking with mirth.

Once the door clicked shut, Blade walked over to his desk and took a seat. He gestured to the empty chair on the other side.

"Have a seat, Tooley," he said, his tone cordial. "You can shut the door behind you."

With a final, lingering glance at the pit, Tooley shut the door and walked over to Blade's desk. He took a seat in the large, wooden chair, feeling dwarfed by the large armrests and ornate backrest. His gaze trailed up, and he noticed some details he hadn't seen before. Like how the ceiling was actually covered with a smooth, wooden dome. Morever were the etchings marking over half of the ceiling-ships and various beasts, with intricate, sweeping waves and flames between them.

"Ah, you noticed my bannerwork," Blade said. "It's a work in progress, as you can tell, but I think you'll appreciate it."

Tooley continued to stare. There were so many details to get lost in. He saw islands and docks, fleets and armies, gold and jewels. And among them all, he noticed one beast in particular kept showing up. A ferret, with the shadowing on his face delicately carved into the wood, seemed to be involved in every different moment captured upon the ceiling.

"Everyone has their own story, Tooley. This one is mine, a reminder of where I came from, and everythin' it took t' get here." He chuckled. "I guess you could call it my 'hat.'"

Tooley started at a corner and then began to follow the carving. The ferret first appeared on the deck of a small ship. He carried what looked to be a book in his hand, and was always following a rat who carried a dagger. Then there was a sudden splatter of ships and beasts, and fire cut through it all. It was a mess of details, with none of the prior care put into it. Finally, Tooley found the ferret on the other side. The rat was missing, but the ferret now held the blade as well as the book. Soon, another ferret appeared as well, and together they both held up the blade, no matter where they went.

Tooley looked down for a moment to find that Blade was staring up at the etching, a wistful smile on his face. "Reminds me of the sacrifices, the pain. Those who were my friends..." Blade's gaze shifted, and his smile faded, "and those that tried to stop me."

Tooley followed his gaze, stopping on a carving of a frightening looking badger hefting a great sword. A lightning bolt ran down his forehead. The badger continued to appear at different points, constantly running up against the ferret. Wherever the two met, there was fire. In the center of the ceiling, there was a great swirl of ships, with hundreds of beasts aboard each. Water crashed up and around the scene, culminating around a large, island-shaped fortress. Atop the fortress, he saw the ferret slamming a mace down upon the the badger's face.

"But despite the beasts who stood in my way and the obstacles they set before me, here I am. I found what I wanted. And let me tell you, Tooley, I will not let anyone take it from me."

Then, the carvings stopped. Tooley looked back down to find that Blade was staring at him evenly.

"Every beast is destined for great things. Including you, Tooley. You just need to figure out who your friends are." Blade smiled reassuringly.

Tooley blinked, and suddenly he was back at the sacrificial grounds, paws tied to the stake.

 _"Yes. That's it."_

Friends didn't say that. More than that, Ciera had been his captain. She was supposed to be more than a friend. She was his family. Yet she had let him and many other beasts be cast straight into Hellgates.

His mind went to Crue, who had cared enough to return his hat to him. Of Robert, who'd comforted him and helped him bury Daggle. Where had they gone? Were they all right? Were they his friends?

There was a sudden knock at the door, and Tooley was once more back in the ornate office. Blade looked up.

"Enter."

The door opened, and Tooley leaned over the arm of the chair to see a familiar weasel and rat enter in.

"Ah, Rindclaw," Blade said. "I think I found somethin' you lost."

"Aye, was wonderin' where he ran off to," Rindclaw said, his tone easy.

Blade looked between Rindclaw and Stagumm, and Tooley noticed the bitter expression on the latter's face.

"I trust you two were able t' work out your business?"

"Aye, that we did," Stagumm said, his tone having a marked less amount of enthusiasm.

Blade folded his paws together. "No problems, I hope?"

"Nay," Stagumm muttered. "We'll get what ye need when ye need it, cap'n."

"Good." Blade relaxed back in his chair. "Exactly what I wanted t' hear." His gaze shifted to Tooley. "Tooley, after your run-in today, I don't think you'll be in any condition to assist Rindclaw in the forge. Report to Fishlug in the kitchen. They're low-staffed as it is." Before Rindclaw could speak, Blade continued, "Skidgel will be replacing Tooley in the forge. I find that appropriate, given his temperament."

Rindclaw nodded in agreement, sparing a glance at Tooley.

Blade smiled at Tooley. "Tooley, it's been a pleasure. Try not t' fall into any more holes if you have the chance."

Recognizing the look that said "leave now," Tooley pushed himself up from the chair and started walking back, wincing at the soreness of his legs. Rindclaw reached out an arm to assist him, and together they started to the door.

"Oh, by the way, Tooley," Blade began, prompting both he and Rindclaw to stop. "If you were looking for Stagumm, how did you end up in my office?"

Tooley felt a shiver run over him. He bit his lip. Blade knew, and there was no point in trying to hide it. Captain's always figured things out, anyway. Before he could move, however, Rindclaw turned around.

"I told him t' come here," the older weasel said. "I know you've been keepin' a close eye on the ore operations, so I figured Stagumm would have a better chance bein' up here. He certainly hasn't been overseeing th' mine at every moment."

The rat bristled next to him. Blade meanwhile, watched Rindclaw for a drawn-out moment.

"Very well. You're dismissed."

Rindclaw nodded. "Thank you, captain."

The three beasts turned and left Blade's office. Rindclaw held an arm under Tooley's shoulder for support, and their pace was slow in comparison to the rat, who trudged onwards moodily. Suddenly, the rat whipped around and stuck out a claw.

"If yew think we're done wit' this, yer gonna be dead wrong, weasel."

Rindclaw sighed. "We'll discuss it in th' mornin'."

The searat snorted, then turned and proceeded down the stairs.

Tooley went to continue walking, but felt Rindclaw suddenly pull him back and spin him around to face him.

"What were you doin' in there?" the weasel snapped.

Tooley blinked up at the weasel's narrowed eyes. "I... err..."

Rindclaw tightened his grip and gave Tooley a shake. "Lad, y' know how many beasts I've seen throw away their lives doin' somethin' stupid?" He glanced back. "I don't care if it was for gold, or food, or curiosity-Blade ain't a beast you trifle with. Y'jus' be a good worker, an' that's good enough, all right? Y've got a chance here. Don't ruin it."

Tooley shook his head. "I 'ad to do somethin'."

Rindclaw's grip loosened. "What?"

"Th' badger. 'E needed help, 'e were... sad."

There was no response from Rindclaw. The older weasel's gaze grew distant, and oddly soft for the blacksmith.

"Every beast's got regrets, mate. Best t' leave 'em in the dark where they belong." Rindclaw breathed out a long sigh, then clapped a paw against Tooley's shoulder, a thin smile on his face. "'Nuff about all that. Y'look like Hellgates. They're jus' startin' t' pull out the dinner carts, and you should be able to make it in time. Go grab yoreself some grub then get yoreself cleaned up. Y'still know the way, aye?"

Tooley searched his hat before finding the hole for the mess hall near the top. "Aye, I think I know th' way."

Rindclaw shoved his shoulder. "Then get goin'!"

Tooley nodded, heading to the stairway and beginning the long trek to the mess hall. And with every step, Captain Blade's words rang in his mind.

 _"You just need to figure out who your friends are."_


	60. Give Me Hell It's a Merrier Place

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Give Me Hell; It's a Merrier Place**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

Plink's footpaws thumped rapidly against the planks of a staircase as she ran up the steps two at a time. This stretch of tunnel was poorly lit and she could barely see, but she remembered which stairs were crooked from the rest.

That was what made her the best of all the runners. After just a week, she remembered the shortest path from officers' quarters to kitchen, from the harbor up to the foul-smelling entrance out onto the crater. Plink could deliver an order anywhere on the mountain in half the time it took some of those other beasts - and she never forgot any of the words in the message, either.

Earsplit knew she was the best, too. That's why he'd patted her on the back and grinned this morning. _Quickest runner I ever had!_ And then he'd assigned Plink to the most important duty a runner could perform.

The little rat scurried through the maze of natural tunnels and rough-hewn chambers, dodging around pirates without really seeing faces. She spied the red sashes - just like the one she now wore belted over her roughly-mended shirt - and the color filled her with a warm, solid feeling.

Some days she looked past the red sashes to the crew colors everybeast wore, the signal that marked a pirate as belonging with a certain ship. _The Red Tempest. Gutcutter. The Tidereaver._ With _The Silver Maiden_ sunk and so few left alive, the last of Captain Ancora's pirates could hardly call themselves any kind of crew.

Today, though, Plink saw the red sashes and felt right. She might not have a crew yet, not exactly, but she _belonged_ here.

Plink leapt up a last short flight of stairs, passed between the guards stationed at the outer door, and stopped before the grand door at the end of the hall. She licked her lips, steadied her breathing, and knocked.

"Enter."

His voice was just as it had sounded through the mask that night outside the mountain. After the hare had stopped screaming and Plink had been certain she was about to die.

But she hadn't. And now, against all odds, she was here. Plink swallowed hard and entered Captain Blade's office.

The room was lit with scattered candles in ornate sconces, and a thick rug softened the floor. Paintings hung on three of the four walls, and on the fourth there was a second door, firmly shut. The captain himself sat behind a massive desk, scrawling out a missive. He looked calm but alert, his handsome eyes fixed on the task at hand. Plink stood up straight and waited to be acknowledged the way Earsplit had taught her, but inwardly she struggled to keep from squirming.

At last, Captain Blade set aside his quill and looked at her. "Ah! Miss Plunk, isn't it?"

"Er- Plink, Cap'n."

"Ah, Plink, my apologies. Captain Ancora tells me you stowed away on the Waverunner ship t' get here. That must have taken some nerve."

Plink remembered just what Ancora had thought of that decision, but she stood a little straighter anyway.

"Your father had nerve, too."

"Y'mean you really knew him? Er- Cap'n?" Plink ducked her snout back down. She'd been trying not to think much of her ma's stories over the past week. It had been easy in the hustle of every day to set those stories aside. Easy to set a lot of things aside.

"Aye. I knew him well." Captain Blade, smiling faintly, rose and slowly circled the desk to lean against the front. "Probably better than any other pirate could know him. Scarcrab had… a special kind of nerve that most beasts didn't understand. He worked hard, and he wasn't afraid to get his paws dirty for his king." The ferret folded his arms, careful not to jostle the missive he held. "I wonder if I can expect the same loyalty from his offspring."

Plink nodded vigorously. "Aye, Cap'n! I won't ever let you down, sir!"

"I believe you mean that, Miss Plink." Captain Blade regarded her steadily, the keen glitter in his eye the only sign of what he might be thinking. His paw snapped out, offering the missive. "If you would, please read this back..."

Plink's stomach plummeted but she made herself step forward and take the parchment, unfolding it carefully and scanning the symbols. She licked her lips and stole a glance up at the waiting captain, then focused hard on the writing as if staring would make its meaning clear.

"You're looking at that upside down."

"Oh." Plink turned the parchment around, but her ears scorched and her face radiated heat beneath her fur.

Captain Blade watched her a moment longer, then tugged the missive from her paw. His eyes still glittered but his expression was stern. "A weakness well hidden is hardly a weakness at all, but there are some things you simply can't fake."

"I… I'm sorry, sir…"

Blade waved a paw and commenced folding the missive into tidy thirds. "No matter. The wordin' sounded excellent in my head - no doubt it'll suffice." He held out the parchment to her again, smiling now. "And so will you, I think. Carry this to Captain Julia Burnet of _The Deathblow_ down on the harbor and wait for her reply. Quickly now."

"Aye aye, Cap'n!"

Plink took the parchment and hurried back the way she'd come, down through the dim tunnels and stairways.

By the time she reached the harbor, she was breathless but her mind had quieted enough that she could marvel at the soaring rock ceiling overhead. The harbor was perhaps her favorite place. It wasn't terribly large as harbors went, but everything was contained within a single vast cavern. Daylight glittered through a yawning hole across the lagoon, casting all the ships in stark sideways light, and a fresh breeze drifted in off the ocean.

Plink dodged the beasts at work hauling scaffolds and supplies along the boardwalk, asking all around until a rat pointed her toward the ship she was looking for. _The Deathblow_ was a worn vessel, its black trim scored from blades and claws and bleached by long seasons in the sun. It was massive, not quite the size of _The Zephyr_ but not too far off, either.

When Plink scurried up the gangplank, she found a handful of rats and weasels loafing around an open barrel, peering inside where something thrashed and clicked. The fur on the back of Plink's neck bristled.

"Two on th' spotted devil."

"Oh! Don' let 'im get yer eye like tha- _ohh!_ "

The beasts roared in dismay or amusement and coins exchanged paws rapidly. Plink tightened her claws on the missive and stepped closer.

"Oy! I got a message fer Cap'n Burnet." A couple of the pirates shot her glances and, seeing she didn't wear any crew colors, snidely looked away. Plink clenched her teeth. "It's important! Where's yer cap'n?"

A weasel eyed her and nodded his snout toward the door into the forecastle. "She be in 'er cabin, an' she ain't ter be disturbed. If somebeast got ter go in there an' get flayed, it ain't gonna be any o' us, I'll tell ye that."

Plink glared at the weasel, then at the door. At her hesitation, the pirates chuckled darkly.

"Go on, mousey," said one of the rats, revealing a half-missing tooth as he grinned. "Din't ye say how yer little paper be real important?"

"I ain't no mouse," Plink sneered right back. She turned and marched toward the door, pretending not to hear their mutters and the scrape of coins.

She rapped twice and restrained the urge to back up as a shadow loomed behind the frosted glass. The door cracked open and an expressionless reptilian face filled the gap. Plink had never seen a monitor before but she was certain that was what this beast was. Her hackles prickled.

"Cap'n Burnet?"

The monitor's eyes narrowed fractionally, and then he spoke in a voice that was definitely masculine. "No."

"Er… I need to see the captain."

"I am captain," he said, holding out his claw for the letter. "Give me thisss."

Plink took a step back and eyed him carefully. "You ain't Cap'n Burnet. Cap'n Blade said I was to deliver this to Cap'n Burnet and wait fer a reply."

"Oh for pity's sake, Zorba," huffed a female voice from inside the cabin. "You do realize you're wasting our time as well as the runner's?"

A few other voices grumbled in agreement. The monitor fixed Plink with his blank stare and stepped reluctantly to one side, leaving just enough space for her to squeeze past him.

The cabin was full of plush furnishings and glittering trinkets and the lavender perfume on the air almost concealed the ship's particular sour aroma. All about the room sat beasts of different sorts. A searat with a braided beard, a fisher wearing a huge feathered hat, a stoat with a bladed hook where his paw should have been. Plink recognized Captain Wraithspit by the red dye in his fur, and she realized all of these beasts were the captains of different ships.

The monitor shut the door behind her and Plink scanned their faces. "Cap'n Burnet?" Her voice sounded very small.

The wildcat seated behind the desk blinked languidly. "That would be me." She held out a paw, all soft fleshy pads and velvety fur. Yet, when she took the missive, her unsheathed claws cut tiny holes in the parchment.

Plink stepped back while Captain Burnet read over the note, sighed, and began scratching out a reply. The other captains chatted in low voices as they waited as well, and Plink hungrily caught snippets of what they said.

"…were about five season back. Never seen a storm like 'er…"

"…that salt-addled scum-sucker Greyjaw could sooner woo a mermaid than convince _that_ ship t' sail…"

"…weird lass, if ye ken, but she'd a face on 'er t' make th' stars weep fer jealousy."

The bearded rat was watching her and he spoke abruptly, in a louder voice than the rest. "Ye be Scarcrab's little darlin', ain't ye?

Plink smiled and her half-healed tail curved upward. "Aye, sir! Cap'n Scarcrab was me da."

He nodded, and a few tiny bells woven into his braids tinkled at the movement. "Aye, ye've his look - 'cept fer that tail. Scarcrab had a real knack fer keepin' his own clear o' trouble."

A couple of the other captains laughed at that, and Plink managed a game smile, though she didn't quite grasp the joke.

"Enough of that, Petre, you wretched thing." Captain Burnet put a precise crease in her reply and held it out to Plink. Her smile was soothing in the way of a well-rehearsed song. "Hurry along now. Don't want to keep our valiant leader waiting."

"Aye, sir." Plink tried to take the note, but the wildcat didn't let go. Her yellow eyes were half-lidded but still burned.

"I'm a ma'am, or is that unclear?"

"Er… no, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

"So you are," Captain Burnet said, then released the note. Plink scrambled to leave.

Back in Captain Blade's office, she stood by and caught her breath while he glanced over the note. A faint smile played across his muzzle and, when he looked up at Plink, he steepled his claws beneath his chin.

"It seems you're as fast as Mister Earsplit says. Julia is rarely inclined to respond to my invitations so quickly. You must have made an impression on her."

Plink swelled with pride, but a doubt niggled at the back of her head. With a shrug, she deflated. "It wasn't anythin' I did. She just wanted to get back to talkin' with those other captains is all."

The words hung in the still air of the office. "Probably," Captain Blade said. "Julia does enjoy her talks. What seemed to be the topic of the day?"

"I didn't hear much of anythin'… just sommat about a beast named Greyjaw."

The captain sat perfectly still, waiting.

"Er… that he's a scum-sucker an' he'd more likely woo a mermaid than sail some ship."

"Well, Captain Greyjaw has his own perfectly seaworthy ship," he said with a wry frown, "so that doesn't make much sense at all, does it?"

Plink smiled, relieved for no reason she could put a claw on. "No, sir!"

"Fantastic work, Miss Plink." Captain Blade's eyes glittered and he smiled a faint, lopsided grin that made Plink's ears go warm. "But enough chit-chat. I've more urgent errands for you. That is, if you think you're up for it."

"Aye, Cap'n! You can count on me!"

Plink delivered a message to a thin, nervous notary in an office near the sulfur mines. It was as close as she had come to the crater, and the stench was so strong that she nearly retched as she waited for the weasel to scribble out a hasty reply. Then it was down to the kitchens to place the captain's lunch order - roasted fish with dill and garlic and white wine. Fishlug held his spoon at the ready as if he meant to rap her head as he'd done several times before, but this time he hesitated. Something had changed. It seemed Captain Blade's personal messenger commanded a measure of respect.

Plink narrowed her eyes and sneered. "An' the captain don't want you overcookin' it any, either."

"Why ye impert'nent liddle-"

Plink dodged his swing and darted out the door. A pan struck the wall just behind her and clanged loud enough to make her ears ring. Perhaps things had not changed that much, after all.

The day passed quickly, but the blur of activity did not quiet Plink's worries as it had for the past week. The vial of perfume remained undiscovered in her hidden pocket, chafing her side more than usual today. Vera had been absent from the kitchen, and even though she was probably just on some errand of her own, it made Plink anxious. She hadn't had a chance to talk to the fox since the day she'd asked after Scully and the wait was worse than sand under her fur. Plink had even tried to go down to the slave quarters one evening when she was supposed to be at dinner, but the guards had turned her away.

Now, though, Plink was in a position to ask the one beast who was sure to know. If there had been some misunderstanding and Scully really was with the slaves, Captain Blade could set things right. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment to ask him.

It was after she had returned with a status update from the harbormaster that Plink got her chance. The captain read through the report with a satisfied tilt to his mouth and, when he finally set it aside, he looked at Plink as if surprised she was still there.

"The dinner hour will come shortly. If you hurry, you might get a good place in line."

"Aye, Cap'n…" Plink licked her lips and lingered where she stood by the door.

Captain Blade watched her steadily, his mouth curving up at one corner. "But first you want to ask me a question."

"A-aye, Cap'n."

The ferret rose from his desk and approached slowly across the room, paws linked behind his back. "You want t' ask me where Mister Craws has gone."

Plink gaped at him. She had the sudden urge to yank the door open and flee, but quashed it. "Aye, sir! How'd you know that?"

"Captain Ancora told me the two of you are quite close." He stopped just out of arm's reach and tipped his head to one side. "It seemed only a matter of time before you brought the matter t' me, since Mister Craws is clearly no longer with us."

Plink leaned back against the door and dug her claws into the wood, staring up at the captain. "You mean… You mean Scully's…"

"Dramatics aren't your strong suit, Miss Plink. Of course not. I only meant that he's no longer here in the Dead Rock. I sent him t' the mainland on a top-secret mission for me." The ferret lifted his chin, and his eyes glinted in contrast to the dark fur of his mask. "He won't return for some time, I'm afraid."

Plink couldn't look away. For all that his words should have given her comfort, her heart hammered in her chest as if she'd just run up from the harbor again.

The captain waited with his paws behind his back.

At last, Plink managed to swallow and allow her shoulders to slump. "But… he didn't even say g'bye…"

"No doubt he wanted to. The need for secrecy was too great to take the chance, though." The captain peered down his snout at her, assessing. Slowly, he continued. "A lot goes on under this mountain, Miss Plink. There are those who would turn against me, even now, when I'm so close t' accomplishing what no pirate has ever done before."

"Turn against you, sir? But… why would any pirate do that?" Plink straightened away from the wall, incensed. "The Dead Rock is the only home fer vermin! There ain't any other place fer us! Why would they try an' destroy that?"

Captain Blade shrugged and shook his head. "Greed, short-sightedness. Pirates, by and large, are not so reasonable as you or I, Miss Plink. They just don't understand that we have to stay united if we want to thrive." He smiled and reached past her to open the door. "Go on t' your dinner now, and straight t' your bunk after. It doesn't do to work too hard. I won't have another of my messengers take a tumble down the steps like Obi. Poor sod."

"Aye, Cap'n. G'night, sir." Plink sidled out the door and watched it close after her. Despite his urging to rest, she was taut with a new energy. As she made her way down to the canteen, her eyes shifted sideways at every beast she passed, furtively searching for betrayal in their faces.

The long benches weren't full yet, and after getting her stew, Plink searched the assembled pirates for that familiar patchwork cap. Tooley was nowhere to be seen. Probably, he would come late to dinner. His duties often kept him, just as Plink's had before she began working for Blade himself. With a shrug, she settled at an empty stretch of table and ate alone.

She stared at the lumps of fish and potato in her bowl and listened to the beasts around her. Some argued about who was cheating at dice, and some complained quietly about the work of readying the ships for the coming voyage. Plink stole surreptitious glances at the latter, marking their species and faces, and the ship colors they wore.

It was after she had gulped down the last of her stew that she finally spotted Tooley. The weasel had come through the line and was holding out his bowl for a helping of the dregs. He waited with a distant, confused expression. Plink tried to wave him over, but Tooley walked right past her as if he didn't notice her and sat at an empty spot at another table.

Plink followed, grinning. "Matey," she said as she sat next to him, "yer never gonna guess what happened today!"

"H'lo," Tooley said quietly, rolling the one solid potato in his bowl through the sludgy gravy. "What was it happened?"

"I'm runnin' orders fer Cap'n Blade now, Tooley!"

He twitched his whiskers with a forced smile. "Err, that's wunnerful."

Plink sat back, confused and a little annoyed. Tooley was usually so good-natured. He'd been sad after Ancora didn't claim him, but he'd at least made an effort to see a brighter side. Now that she thought about it, though, Plink realized his smiles had been fading for days. "What's the matter, Tooley?"

Tooley finally looked up from his bowl. "Sorry… Just a little derstracted, s'all."

"Why? What happened?"

He shrugged. "Nothin' happened. It's just… Cap'n Blade... this place," he grumbled, rolling his fretful eyes to the low stone ceiling, the cavern walls flashing in the torchlight. "This ain't a good place, Plink. There's bad thin's happenin' here…"

She shifted her eyes toward a group of pirates she'd overheard complaining about their workload. "There're beasts here who ain't loyal to Cap'n Blade, Tooley. We all gotta do what we can to stay united."

"Aye… I know, but…" Tooley frowned at the mush in his bowl as if trying to decipher some message hidden there.

Plink eyed the wrinkle in his brow. It was all wrong. This was all just a pointless anxiety he had made for himself at the most nonsensical time, when everything was turning out to be alright, and she didn't know how to help him.

At length, Plink couldn't sit still anymore. She patted him on the shoulder and climbed to her footpaws. "We'll talk later, matey. Try not to worry so much."

Tooley nodded and smiled a little, and Plink hurriedly left the canteen. She intended to return to the runners' dormitory as the captain had commanded, but she found herself climbing all the wrong stairs instead. Captain Blade would probably want to know about the grumbles she had heard at dinner, she decided.

Not Tooley's, though. Tooley was just confused right now. He'd figure things out soon.

The guards were missing from the outer door, and Plink slowed as she entered to look around. It seemed as if more coats had hung from the rack by the door this morning. Perhaps the captain had gone out. Resolving to knock at his office anyway, Plink nearly turned away, but from the corner of her eye, she spotted something wedged between the base of the rack and the stone wall. She tugged it loose and raised it into the torchlight. A familiar frayed blue book.

Scully's book.

Plink rasped her claw down the stained spine. The sound made her ill.

He had left in a hurry. In secret. He just dropped it, that was all. She'd just have to return it when he got back. Plink jammed the book deep in her pocket and her paw brushed other things there, things she had reclaimed from the offering baskets on the sacrificial grounds. A silver button from a healer's coat. A charcoal pencil.

Plink shook off the disturbing thoughts and hurried on to the grand door. She knocked as she had each time this day, and entered automatically. The chair behind the large desk stood empty, though. There was nobeast in the office at all. The second door stood slightly agape, revealing just an inch of darkness beyond.

"Cap'n?"

Plink took a step toward the door. She knew she shouldn't be here. She knew she should go back out the way she'd come. There was a sound coming from the darkness, though, a faint rhythmic gust like a bellows.

"Cap'n, is that you?" Plink squeaked.

A rap on the door behind her cracked through the office and Plink leapt straight up, shaken to her bones. After a stiff moment of silence, the knock came again, harder than before.

"Captain Blade!" The voice was that of Captain Burnet, the wildcat to whom Plink had delivered her first message this morning. She sounded exasperated, but the force of her knocking suggested more violent feelings. "Perhaps your extensive studies haven't revealed this yet, but it's rude to extend an invitation and then neglect to receive your guest."

The latch clanked and Plink darted through the second doorway, easing the door almost shut and peeking back through the slim crack with bated breath. Captain Julia Burnet sidled into the office, frowning dryly. Her eye fixed almost at once on the second door. Plink's heart stopped. She'd been spotted.

Captain Burnet only huffed and rolled her eyes. "I am not coming to your bedchamber to find you, Captain," she said loudly.

From behind Plink, echoing as if through a huge chamber, came Captain Blade's voice. "One moment, Julia. Lost track of the ti-"

Plink did not hear the rest, because she took a few panicked steps into the dark room, and the stone floor disappeared from beneath her footpaws. She went skidding down a long, steep slope. Stone rasped her tail raw and jabbed at her haunches until she tumbled backward and spilled claws-over-maw onto a flatter surface.

It was as if somebeast had clanged a gong inside her head. The ringing faded slowly, clearing until at last Plink could hear the captains' voices coming from high above. She heard footsteps on a long wooden catwalk and saw the flashes of a passing candle through its slats. She heard a door shut, and the voices went quiet.

And then, all Plink could hear was the breathing of the massive beast beside her in the dark. She could feel the heat radiating off its body, could smell the musk of its pelt and the sourness of its breath. She cowered on the gritty stone for an eternity, holding perfectly still and straining to see. Yet there was no light to see by. Even above, all was darkness.

At length, Plink realized the steady, deep breaths were those of a sleeping creature. She swallowed and allowed herself to inhale normally at last. The paralyzing fear began to relinquish its hold on her mind. Badger. The scent was badger. In the dark, that odor was as big and powerful as the beast itself.

Himself. The last time Plink had seen Atlas, he had been still and bleeding in the firelight, chained to the sacrificial column. Now, mercifully, he slept like a deadbeast.

Quietly as she could, Plink began crawling up the slope down which she'd come. The stone bit into the tender flesh under her claws and tore at the front of her shirt, but she pressed on. Perhaps halfway up, she found the wall became steeper, and her pawholds crumbled all at once, sending her sliding backward in a cacophony of grinding stone.

Behind her, Atlas's breathing changed. He let out a long, quiet snarl and his massive body shifted. Plink remained perfectly still, but the badger's breathing did not deepen. He was listening for her.

Would he remember her scent from that day aboard _The Zephyr_? There was no broadsword here in the pit, but Atlas could finish her a thousand other ways. Brutal ways.

It happened very quickly. There was a gritty noise of something large moving to Plink's right. Fear welled up in the young rat as if a dam had broken and, with a squeak, she tried to run to the far side of the pit.

Yet the floor was not as flat as she had expected. It slanted downward and Plink staggered, tripped, and rolled. She came to a stop in a narrow gap in the rock and, sensing more space beneath her, scrambled deeper to evade Atlas's grasping paws.

Those paws never came, but Plink didn't stop. On all fours, she crawled deeper into the tunnel, scraping against knobby stone protrusions and ducking under obstacles her whiskers brushed first.

She crawled for such a long time that she left her fear of Atlas behind. A new fear took its place. What if she was lost? What if she was trapped in this lightless tunnel that went on burrowing forever into the earth?

Just when Plink was beginning to entertain the notion of turning back, she spied light ahead. A sound reached her, a musical splash of water on stone. The tunnel grew steeper and abruptly opened out through the ceiling of a chamber. Plink poked her head through the hole and stared, upside down.

The room was oblong, and about the size of a small house. A tiny waterfall trickled down the wall directly beneath her, glinting in the light of a thousand luminous shelf mushrooms that sprouted straight from the damp rock. The water burbled down the smooth stone, following a well-worn path some feet across the chamber before disappearing through the floor.

It was a struggle to clamber down the slick wall without falling, but Plink managed it by stepping on the biggest of the mushrooms, which were about as wide as her head. The floor was uneven and slippery, and she nearly slid right down into the water before making it past the drainage to the flat area beyond.

Plink scratched her head and peered into the dark at the far end of the room, twisting her ears to listen. The echoes of her own noises suggested the passage went on that way, but she also picked up another sound. Something soft and rapid.

Plink followed the noise to a mound of stone that rose up to the level of her waist. There was a hole through the top, and as she peered down into the circular shaft of darkness, the sound was clearer. Flapping. Like birds' wings.

A memory teased at the edge of her mind, but Plink brushed it aside as she noticed something else; the air down this hole smelled like the sea.

If the tunnel led to the ocean, it had to lead out eventually, and Plink would rather risk swimming than wind up trapped in these tunnels until she starved. She climbed down through the mound and began carefully inching lower, grateful for the smooth ridges that ringed the tunnel.

This time, the climb was short. The shaft wormed perhaps fifteen feet down, then ended. Below her, Plink found a stone shelf a short drop away, lit faintly by indirect torchlight.

But beyond that shelf, the floor fell away, at least a hundred feet below. Plink's stomach flipped and she almost lost her hold on the last ridges of the tunnel. If she stumbled when she landed on that ledge, she would continue falling for a long ways.

She couldn't hang in this shaft forever either, though. Plink took three deep breaths, then lowered herself as far as she could go and released her hold.

Her footpaws hit, and she dropped to all fours at once to steady herself, heart banging in her ears. For a long moment, she knelt there, listening to the soft flapping and the occasional laugh of a distant pirate. Only when she had calmed did she dare sit back on her heels and look around the harbor.

The first thing she saw was the row of ships, seeming small from so high up. Plink ignored them for a long moment as she searched for a way down, but the wall was pocked and ragged with pawholds, and the ships soon drew her eye once more.

It was their colors, the pennants strung from the tops of their masts, that fluttered in the light evening breeze wafting in through the great hole across the harbor. By some trick of the ceiling of the chamber, the soft sound was magnified, as if a tiny flock of birds were taking flight off the water.

 _…_ _ye'll find a flock o' birds…  
_  
Plink's eyes bulged as the riddle came back to her in a rush. For a week she had marveled at the new home she had found, at the complex new world in which she had a place. Treasure had been the furthest thing from her mind.

Now, though, her eyes were drawn inexorably back to the dark hole above her. If she leapt as high as she could, she thought she might be able to get a hold on the lip of the tunnel. The riddle repeated in her head, lilting and hypnotic and loaded with fresh promise.

 _…_ _Climb down the mole's chimney  
an' ye'll find a flock o' birds,  
or wriggle through the wormhole  
t'where screams be th' only words.  
Or go straight fer th' king-  
climb up through th' stars.  
Ye can steal 'is crown  
if ye cut out 'is heart._


	61. Bend or Break

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Bend or Break**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

Robert grunted as he lifted yet another chunk of sulfur and struggled to drop it into the basket weighing down on his back. His muscles ached and screamed, but he continued the labor for fear of giving Torin yet another reason to harass him.

Ever since Robert was thrown into the Sulfur Mines, the wildcat was always on his back. On the first day of labor, the hedgehog and his fellow Waverunners struggled with getting used to the nature of the mines. Torin had decided to force them into a smaller section of the caves to gather "every scrap o' rock in this mountain." The Waverunners would constantly bump into each other as they milled about the tiny space collecting their chunks. Robert remembered how he accidentally walked into Addai and knocked the other hedgehog's chunks out of his basket. As Robert attempted to help his friend, Torin cracked his whip.

"Be careful where you hedgepigs stumble about!" Torin had shouted. "That's my haul you're droppin'! I'll make you gather two for every one you drop here on out, Grovelhog!"

Robert started to keep to himself after that incident. He tried to occupy his thoughts and look around the mines as he worked, though it was never too interesting. The walls were craggy and gray, only allowing just enough light to see what needed gathering. The air was rough and scorched his throat, giving the hedgehog more reasons to struggle catching his breath. The atmosphere had Robert wishing to be back in the jungle. The worst of the mines, however, was the effect it had on the other slaves.

They'd walk about lifelessly all day as they labored. Not a sound could be heard from them as they worked, save for the occasional groan of effort, which was swiftly silenced by the lashing of Torin's whip. They worked until they could work no more, then did it all again the next day. What broke his heart most was Reedox.

Reedox moved methodically has he worked, his eyes glazed over and staring without seeing. He lifted one chunk after the other, slowly but surely. Robert, concerned, cautiously moved himself closer to the poor squirrel, careful to be out of Torin's sight. Once the hedgehog creeped next to Reedox, he made a slight whistle. The squirrel slowly turned to face him. Robert gulped, trying his best to ignore the ugly X branded into the poor lad's forehead.

"Don' worry, 'Dox," Robert whispered, "us Waverunners saved you from slavery once already, an' you can bet we can do it again!"

Reedox, barely registering the hedgehog, turned and continued laboring away.

"Hey now, 'Dox, don' you give up hope now," Robert urged, prompting the squirrel to face the hedgehog once more. "I won', an' I'll get you out o' here if'n I have to lose a limb doin' it." Robert winked. Reedox, after a pause, turned and walked away this time. He could swear there was a slight bounce in the squirrel's step. Smiling, the hedgehog returned to his station, careful to hide his content from Torin.

After several hours, Torin shouted for Chak. The otter came into the small cave. He briefly glanced towards Robert, who gave a simple nod to assure the otter he was fine. Chak then looked to Torin.

"We be needing to get the slaves working on that other mineshaft," Torin stated. "Help me wrangle them over there." Chak nodded, commanding his own slaves. The wildcat cracked his whip at the Waverunners, causing a slight disorder in the crowd. "You all get your loads back to the wagon! An' do it now, not later!"

As Robert joined the other beasts frantically attempting to follow Torin's orders, he noticed Colonel Swiftpaw topple over. The hare dropped his basket of sulfur chunks, scattering them across the cave floor. The hedgehog rushed to his side, bending over to help him up.

"You alright, colonel?" Robert asked, but before the hare could answer Torin had made his way to the struggling beasts.

"What's this then?" The wildcat barked. "Lyin' down on the job are we?"

"Cain't you see he cain't stand?" Robert found himself shouting back.

"Why is that then?" Torin sneered. "I hope there's a good reason, 'cause if rabbit here can't work then he ain't of use to me!"

"Well he ain't no use to no one dead neither!" Robert shouted, no longer caring to hide his contempt. "He jus' has a bad leg! He can do jus' fine if you give 'im the chance to rest!"

"If I be givin' every beast with a bad leg, arm er toe a 'chance ta rest,' thar'd be no work done a'tall 'round 'ere! Now get 'im up er I'll finish 'im off!" Torin pulled out his weighty cudgel, set with sharp metal studs, ready to brain Colonel Swiftpaw.

Robert hastily got under Frederick's arm and helped him struggle to his feet, though the basket still sat with its contents scattered on the ground.

"What be the problem o'er 'ere?" Chak sauntered over, meeting Robert's eye for a split second before turning his attention back to Torin.

"Grovelhog's tellin' me this rabbit here's earned himself a break!" The wildcat smacked his club smartly against his open palm. "An' I'm obliged to give it to 'im…"

Chak looked at Colonel Swiftpaw. The hare was still struggling to stay upright, leaning heavily against Robert for support and wheezing for breath. The otter turned back to Torin.

"Might 'ave a point." he said. "The rabbit looks like 'e's worked all 'e cain manage."

Torin growled, "We don't keep useless slaves around, mate. Defeats the whole purpose o' keepin' 'em alive."

Chak frowned back. "I wouldn' mind if the rabbit dropped dead right now, 'cept we've a'ready lost two ta the mines taday. That older lot be droppin' like flies if ye 'aven't noticed." Chak stepped forward and pulled back the colonel's lips, showing pink gums and white incisors. "This rabbit be 'ealthy 'nough ta last another year me thinks, once that leg be 'ealed up proper. 'Is nose ain't e'en bloody yet y'see? Ain't no sense in getting' rid o' 'im if we don' 'ave ta."

"Who's gonna make up the work, then?" Torin asked, still unconvinced.

"I will," Robert butted in, locking Torin's gaze with his own steely one. "I'll do what needs to be done."

Torin smirked. "Well then ye'd better be getting started if ye want ta finish today, Grovelhog. An' Chak, since ye like him so much, ye can take the rabbit here back ta the slave quarters."

Chak nodded, and cracked his whip at the colonel. "Come on Gimpy, it be yer lucky day." Swiftpaw scrabbled to his footpaws, briefly glancing at Robert with a look of thanks. Robert nodded in understanding, then started for the colonel's basket. Torin grabbed his freshly lashed arm, causing the hedgehog to flinch in pain.

"Either I'll break you, Grovelhog, or you'll break yourself." With that, the wildcat let go and made his way back to screaming at the other slaves. Robert snatched up the basket and started filling it with Swiftpaw's haul.

 _You ain't gonna break me, Torin. Ain't nobody can do that._

After filling up the basket, Robert made his way to the deposit without pause. On his way, he noticed several other slaves staring at him. He saw a little life in their eyes, and heard a few whispers pass between them. Once he reached the deposit and started to empty his baskets, a pine marten broke from the crowd of slaves. He was covered in scars and bruises, and on his face were three of the hideous brands like Reedox's. He was even missing his tail. Looking around warily, the marten hurriedly made his way to Robert.

"Oy," he began. "I'm surprised you stood up to Torin like that. You should probably show him some more respect, or else ye'd end up like me."

"I only be respectin' those that deserve it, mate," Robert stated.

"There's nothing wrong with pretending. It gets their guard down, you know?" Hylan winked. "You're Robert, right? A friend asked me to pass on a message to you."

"Oh? And who are you, friend?" Robert asked.

"The name's Hylan."

* * *

It was evening. The slaves were huddled into their quarters, or hole as Robert would call it. His muscles ached as though he were still lifting in the mines. They were in so much pain that resting seemed to do nothing for the hedgehog as he laid by the cave wall. It even pained him to think, though there was much to think about.

 _An uprising against Blade_ , Robert pondered. Hylan had told him of the plans to overthrow the mad pirate, and that Crue was the one with them. It was of course an improbable dream. Blade had come back from the dead, after all. What were the chances of killing him again? But the mere fact Robert wasn't the only one who hadn't given up hope was enough to make it seem possible.

 _First thing's first_ , Robert thought. _Colonel Swiftpaw must know._

With much protest from his joints, Robert heaved himself to his feet, making his way to the colonel. The hare, in as much pain as Robert, was hidden away from the rest of the slaves to rest. The hedgehog maneuvered through the crowd of exhausted beasts. Once he reached Swiftpaw, he sat beside him, relieved to rest once more.

"Colonel," Robert said quietly. "Colonel, we need to talk."

Swiftpaw didn't move.

"Colonel, I've heard word from Crue. She's got a plan to save us all."

Swiftpaw merely continued to lay there, quietly resting. Robert reluctantly reached over to lightly shake the hare's shoulder. Swiftpaw groaned, then rolled over to look at the hedgehog. His face betrayed just how exhausted the hare was, with bloodshot and tired eyes staring into Robert's.

"And what might it be then, wot?" Swiftpaw mumbled.

"I don' know jus' yet," Robert replied. "I told the pine martin who told me, er, Hylan was the bloke's name, I told him we needed to be talkin' with you about it."

The hare sighed. "And why did you tell him a foolish thing like that?"

"Well, I figgered we'd need you to rally the Waverunners, colonel. . ."

"Don't call me that, Mister Rosequill," Swifpaw groaned. "I'm not the colonel anymore. I'm just a bally slave, just like the rest of these poor beasts."

Robert was taken aback. "Swiftpaw, you ain't no slave, you're a colonel, an' I'll be treatin' you like one no matter what."

"No, you won't," Swiftpaw said with a sigh. "I don't have the right to be called that anymore. I failed, Robert. All I've done is fail. I couldn't stop Atlas, I couldn't even reason with him. Scully deserted. I was helpless to save Twilbee, or Atlas for that matter. Only the Fates knows where he is now. And now I'm helpless again, unable to do anything but sit and wait while Blade is likely making preparations to take Salamandastron. Atlas said to me before we left if I could imagine Hearth burning. Now I know what he meant."

 _Hearth burning. . ._ Robert couldn't help but imagine it. Blade would run it to the ground and leave no one behind. He'd take everything and sell the beasts to slavery. All of them. Even Maribel and Violet. . .

"No!" Robert said. "We won' let him get that far. We can stop him now. Beast's are willin' to try, an' you can help lead the charge!"

Swiftpaw chuckled. "Look around you, Mister Rosequill. Look at those poor beasts." Robert did as he was told. All he could see were aching and exhausted beasts gasping for breath, huddled together in rags and fear and dirt. Even the Waverunners were a sad group, the fire of seafaring in their eyes replaced with surrender. "Do you really think they need _me?_ No, they need a real leader. Somebeast they can bally well look up to. Somebeast who gives them hope. They need somebeast like you, Robert."

"Me?" Robert asked. "No, you've got it wrong, mate. I'm a failure, too. We wouldn' be in this mess if it wasn' for me wantin' to go bumblin' through the jungle. Everyone trusted me, an' now they're sufferin' for it. We watched Twilbee burn 'cause o' me. An' the whole time I could only think o' meself. . .an' me own family. . ." Robert broke off, trying not to let the tears overcome him again. "How can I lead if I be thinkin' that way?"

"Mister Rosequill, we were all thinking like that. Me, Addai, Killian, probably even Atlas. We all have beasts to go home to... and beasts we're fighting for..." Swiftpaw said. He then reached into his pocket and removed the pin Blade had humiliated him with. Robert recognized it as an official Waverunner pin that designated a beast as a ranking officer. He held it out for the hedgehog, who gingerly took it from him. "And you've always fought for everybeast. Robert, take over. Lead the Waverunners. Get these beasts home."

The hedgehog stared at the tiny pin in his paws. "An' what about colonel Wrightbones? Cain't he do it instead?"

"Look at him, Robert," Swiftpaw said. Robert quickly looked over to the other hare, who was sitting alone, head in his paws. "He hasn't said a word since we were forced into this blasted rock."

"You sure then, friend? Me?"

Frederick nodded. "Aye, Mister Rosequill. If any beast can lead them, it's you. You were always a navigator, Robert. Just do what you always do. Show them the way."

END OF ROUND 4


	62. In An Honest Service

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **In An Honest Service, There is Thin Commons**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

Plink crouched in the shadows at one end of the harbor and watched a patrol of guards march the long stone bank. Her eyes burned from late nights and smokey torches, but she hardly blinked. She'd been waiting three days for this chance, and she wouldn't miss it now.

Tonight, she would find the treasure.

There had been an unusual amount of activity on the docks over the last few days. Ships were being loaded with crates and casks. One by one, hulls were scraped smooth, and sails and rigging were inspected and repaired. The work often kept beasts in the harbor long past the dinner hour, making it difficult for even a small rat to sneak around.

Yet Plink visited the harbor openly throughout the day. Blade had many messages to relay to his captains, and Plink quickly learned to recognize each beast and the ship they commanded. She learned other things, as well; things that were harder to explain. She learned that when Captain Wraithspit raked his claws through his red-splotched fur, he was pleased with what the captain had written. She learned that, though Captain Zorba never cracked a smile, he enjoyed making his crew laugh by forcing Plink to leap for a missive or trip on her way off his ship. She learned to listen past the false laughter and grumbles of weariness and frustration to gauge whether beasts were merely dissatisfied or mutinous.

And every snippet of conversation she overheard, every meaningful glance she didn't quite understand, Plink reported to Captain Blade. His appetite for gossip was voracious. _A captain needs t' know what's on his crew's minds, Miss Plink. It's the best way t' keep the peace._

Plink did her part to keep the peace with a willing heart, but unease followed her through the day. In the night, it settled in her stomach like a sickness. She lay awake in her bunk in the crowded runners' quarters, and her thoughts turned toward glittering things.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, she wouldn't be satisfied with fantasies. Plink waited until the guards had turned away from the hidden tunnel entrance, then she scurried to the pocked stone wall and began to climb.

She moved quickly, knowing the patrol would be back around soon, and shortly scrambled over the high ledge and lay back to catch her breath. The mouth of the tunnel loomed above her and, faintly, she heard the scuffing feet of the patrollers. When their steps began to diminish again, Plink dared a glance down to the harbor floor far below, then jumped to grab the lip of the tunnel, and squirmed her way up the chute.

It seemed longer than she remembered it, but she soon emerged into the faint greenish light. Plink broke off one of the brightest mushrooms and began making her way toward the darker end of the chamber. The rock walls narrowed in as she progressed, and the floor sloped down, twisting and dropping off unexpectedly in places. Plink climbed down the tunnel carefully, but then her paw slipped on a knob of rock and she went tumbling. Her mushroom bounced away and she barely missed impaling herself on a cone of rock that jutted up from the cave floor. Plink pushed herself up slowly, staring at what her fallen light revealed.

"Daggers all around you..." Before her, stone protrusions stabbed down from the ceiling and up from the floor. Her heart pounded - not because of the jagged room, but because she was so close.

 _Daggers all around ye,  
ye know ye've gone too far..._

The treasure could be just a few steps ahead. Just on the other side of this room.

Plink licked her lips and picked her way through the stone knives. The chamber was small, perhaps ten paces wide at most, and on the other side, the tunnel smoothed out and continued.

She did not see the second tunnel until her paw, trailing along the wall to steady her, dipped into a shadowy recess. A side passage. Curious, Plink ventured through the narrow opening and followed the curved tunnel until it opened out onto the vast chamber beyond.

She could tell it was vast by the sound of her steps echoing faintly off the far walls and ceiling, but she couldn't see much. Mostly in the dark, she felt along the edges of wooden crates that smelled of parchment, leather, and ink - like Scully's book, in fact. There were dozens of them, stacked tidily against one wall, higher than Plink could reach and stretching on farther than she cared to follow.

There was a glint in the darkness as something toward the chamber's center caught the light of her mushroom. Plink approached carefully, feeling along the floor until she touched the shining object. She held it close to her light.

It was a diamond the size of her eye. Plink gaped, turning the stone so that its facets flickered, clear as a spring.

The chamber floor was littered with coins, and Plink's footpaws rattled them as she explored the sacks and chests from which they'd overflowed. There was no end in sight. In fact, the carpet of gold thickened as she went on, and soon Plink found herself on the edge of a mountain of treasure that glittered and disappeared into the darkness above her.

She looked again at the diamond in her paw. With so much here, surely the captain wouldn't miss one gem. Plink tipped the diamond into her pocket. It tugged at her coat, unexpectedly heavy.

The smells in this chamber were strange - old and stale and dominated by the musk of a ferret. Captain Blade probably visited this place often. Plink felt suddenly like her own scent was pressing itself on the air, giving her away. She dug the fox perfume from its hidden pocket and sprinkled a few potent drops on the floor, then replaced the cork and scurried from the chamber.

By the last dull glow of her mushroom, Plink wove back through the dagger room and climbed the final stretch of tunnel, and only when she had emerged from the mole's chimney to find the dawn light stealing onto the harbor did she pause to catch her breath.

She withdrew the gem to admire it in daylight and it flashed like a signal before Plink could cover it again with her claws.

* * *

The diamond weighed her down all day. Climbing the many flights of stairs was far more taxing than usual, and whenever Plink held still, she felt as if her jacket was askew. And here, in Captain Blade's dining room, she felt the diamond's pull hardest of all.

"Er- sorry, Cap'n?" She snapped upright from her weary slump when she realized Captain Blade had stopped writing and was now watching her over his empty dessert dish.

"I asked if you've been sleeping. You look dead on your feet, Miss Plink."

Plink licked her lips and settled on a half-truth. "There're fleas in the runners' bunkroom, sir. Splitear's plannin' on saltin' again today, but that itches, too."

Blade shut his eyes and nodded sagely. Plink loved it when he accepted her word this way. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew the torments of fleas and sleeplessness. He understood her.

"You won't have t' worry about that much longer," Blade said with a sly smile. "When we embark, I want you aboard _The Zephyr_ with me. There won't be as much running for you there, but a ship always needs a cabin boy. Or…" He regarded her thoughtfully. "Cabin lass, as it were."

Plink beamed, even more desperately grateful with the diamond in her pocket. "Thank you, Cap'n! You'll never regret choosin' me, sir!"

"I will if you drop dead of exhaustion before you ever get the chance t' board." Blade finished his note with a flourish and waved it dry. "After you run this t' Captain Burnet, I want you t' take the rest of the afternoon off. Get some fresh air on the harbor. Find a quiet spot an' take a nap."

Plink let her wrist bump the hard lump in her pocket and barely kept from hanging her head. "Aye, Cap'n."

She took the note and was on her way out the door when she nearly ran into another beast on their way in. Plink stopped and stared up at Captain Ancora, startled. She hadn't seen her in days. The ferret looked as sharp-eyed as ever, and she took in Plink's appearance in a glance. The corner of her mouth tipped downward.

"Commandeering my crew, are you?" Captain Ancora snapped her attention to Blade.

Blade shrugged, smiling faintly. "We're all servin' the same cause, aren't we? Run along, Miss Plink. Enjoy your afternoon."

"Aye, Cap'n." Plink glanced self-consciously at Ancora, then back toward Blade. He was smirking more deeply now, and it made her feel like she had betrayed one captain for the other. "Thank you, Cap'n," she mumbled, then hurried from the dining room.

"Actually," Blade said as she was leaving, "it's one of your crew I invited you here t' discuss…"

The door closed behind her and Plink didn't catch the words that followed, but she heard the loaded tones with which they spoke.

Plink didn't think on that for long, though. In the corridor that ran the length of Blade's suite, a dozen beasts in shackles were hauling sacks out of the office and through the main door into the tunnels beyond. A few guards with short flails oversaw them, and as Plink watched, a shaking vole staggered and stopped. The nearest stoat striped him three times before he managed to resume his slow march.

Plink shrank back against the wall and watched them pass.

She knew there were slaves in the Dead Rock, and she knew Vera had been troubled by the sight of them. In her mind, though, the slaves had all been like Minstrel and Scrufftail - roughed up and not exactly happy, but not actively suffering either.

That delusion quaked and crumbled as she watched this line of beasts with their backs hunched under the weight of their burdens, their oozing wounds and their fur chafed off in places. Plink didn't want to look at them. Vera had been right. She didn't want to see this.

To her dismay, the slaves took the same tunnel she had intended on taking, so Plink forged off on a more roundabout route toward the harbor. When her path rejoined with the main corridor, she thought at first that the slaves had somehow beaten her here. They trudged with the same exhausted resignation, their bodies were equally ruined and difficult to look at directly. Yet the guards wore different colors. It was a different group.

Plink followed them the last of the way to the harbor, crossing paths with another two teams of slaves, and found a crowd of pirates gathered to watch the procession. _The Zephyr_ was docked in the nearest spot, and as Plink watched, the slaves climbed the gangplank and took their burdens into the massive ship's belly.

"…always knew 'e 'ad it 'ere someplace," a weasel was muttering nearby. "Wif all 'ese tunnels, weren't no way ter sniff it out."

His companion, a skinny searat, scratched at his chafed forearms and glanced around. "Well, it's out now, ain't it? An' all loaded up nice on that Waverunner ship. Beast could go anywheres in that ship, Surg."

The weasel shot him an ugly look. "It'd take a full crew ter sail 'er, yew dolt." His eyes flicked past the searat and caught Plink watching. For an instant, she was afraid, but the weasel abruptly cuffed his companion. "An' don't yew dare speak o' such fings! I won' stand fer no schemin', Rotfang, I won'!"

The searat squeaked half a protest, but Surg just cuffed him again and cast Plink an oily smile. She took in their colors - black, Blade's own crew - and warily moved on.

She spotted Captain Burnet off from the rest, watching the slaves work while her tail twitched intermittently behind her. At her side stood another weasel, this one fatter than most. As Plink approached them from the side, she spied his pale chin and throat and realized it was Captain Greyjaw.

It seemed strange - Plink had never seen these two captains share words before.

"…solid enough reputation, but there ain't much else to 'er," he was saying. "She's no faster than _The Deadwake_ , and nothin' t' marvel at without 'er cannon."

Captain Burnet peered down her flat nose at him. "Some would say our great leader honored you by deeming you worthy to sail his own vessel - but you'd spit on the gift because it's too fine?"

Greyjaw laughed. "Legend be well an' good, but if a catapult be launchin', ye know which ship they be aimin' t' hit."

"Perhaps he trusts you to safely maneuver his ship through even the deadliest waters."

"An' perhaps he be favorin' his new acquisitions o'er the old."

Plink watched the way they watched each other - like combatants squaring off - then cleared her throat. "Er - Cap'n Burnet. Message fer you, ma'am."

The wildcat plucked the note from her paw without looking away from Greyjaw, then began reading with a sigh. The weasel folded his arms and smirked.

"Is it me imagination, or do the leash be growin' shorter?"

Captain Burnet eyed him sideways. "Why Greyjaw, I didn't know you were the creative type."

"Don't it get tiresome?" Greyjaw persisted, tilting his head to one side and baring his yellow teeth in a careless smile. "Passin' from one paw t' the next? Always playin' lackey t' some other beast? Ye don't actually think ye'll get the best o' Blade like ye did with your last captain, do ye?"

Captain Burnet folded the note and tucked it away in a pocket of her fine longcoat, then turned a smile on the weasel. It was a velvety smile, but Plink couldn't look at it without remembering the fangs beneath. "Unlike some, I know when to put down the dice and enjoy my winnings."

Apparently displeased by this answer, Greyjaw narrowed his eyes and abruptly turned his glare on Plink, who was watching all this with rapt attention. "Off with ye, whelp."

He raised a paw to cuff her and Plink darted off at once. She would have headed toward the kitchen, but a smack of flesh against stone and a ring of scattering coins made her pause in the mouth of the tunnel to look back.

One of the slaves - the same vole she had seen stagger before - had fallen and was struggling feebly to rise. The stoat raised his flail. The watching pirates fell silent in anticipation.

Plink ran from the harbor, but the screams and sudden jeers followed her for a long way. Even later, when she began dozing in the runner's dormitory, she heard the crack of leather straps and jerked awake. The dinner hour was not so far off, so she resigned herself to wandering the corridors of the Dead Rock instead.

Near the kitchen, Plink rounded a corner to find Captain Ancora pacing the empty hallway ahead. The ferret did a double take and a slew of shuttered emotions passed over her face. Remembering her guilt from before, Plink considered turning around, but it was already too late.

"Miss Plink," Captain Ancora said, tipping her head toward a doorway, "I'd like a word."

"With me? Cap'n?"

The ferret let out a carefully controlled breath. "Seeing as you are the only one to be pried away from your duties, yes. With you. Now."

She gestured again toward the doorway and Plink moved to obey the unspoken command. The room turned out to be a storage pantry, many of the crates and barrels of which bore the Waverunner emblem. Plink crossed her arms and turned to face Captain Ancora, who had stopped in the doorway where she could look out and see if anybeast was coming.

"What did Blade tell you about where Mister Craws has gone?"

Plink shrugged her stiff shoulders and said the words she'd been repeating to herself for days. "Scully's on a secret mission."

Captain Ancora eyed her skeptically. "A secret mission. Okay. And what ship sailed him to that secret mission?"

"I- I don't know… Cap'n Blade didn't say."

"Forget what he said. What do you remember?"

Plink remembered standing out in the sun, looking across the water at the fleet in the distance. She remembered counting the ships, and telling Scully the names of all she had already learned. She remembered when she had still been searching the Dead Rock for him, when she had happened to count the ships in the harbor...

There was a terrible feeling building in her chest. "This is stupid," Plink spat. "I wasn't payin' that much attention to the ships. I wouldn't've known if one of 'em left."

Captain Ancora watched her, irritation pulling her mouth askew. "You know that's not true. You can count. You aren't a complete idiot. You even have a head for remembering stupid trivia like the names of all the ships in that harbor. If one of those vessels had taken Mister Craws anywhere, you would be able to tell me which one was gone - but you can't, and you won't admit it, because that would mean admitting that Blade _lied_ to you to hide the truth about what happened to your friend."

"He didn't lie! A ship could've come that night fer Scully! You don't know everything!"

"No," Captain Ancora said quietly, straightening her spine. "But I know Blade, and I know what his lies look like, and I know when he's telling the truth. I can tell you for a fact that he killed Mister Craws and had his body incinerated so none of us would know until he was ready to rub it in our faces."

Plink's paw had slipped into her pocket unnoticed and was gripping the book hard, jabbing the corner of the spine into the soft pad of her thumb. She shut her eyes and gripped that edge so tight her knuckles throbbed, as if that alone would prevent her tumbling into some cruel chasm.

Captain Ancora still watched her from the doorway, and when her voice came again, it was gentler than before. "This isn't a home. Blade isn't any kind of father you want. He'll cut you down the second you lose your value to him, do you understand?"

But however gentle the captain's voice was, her words cut Plink deep as any blade.

"I unnerstand," she sneered, "that yer mad you were wrong. You said pirates were stupid an' they couldn't work together, and then we found Blade an' he was doin' exactly what you said was impossible. You hate him fer bein' a better captain than you'll ever be."

Ancora's eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, then slashed back down to Plink. "You're a waste, just like all the rest of them. You'll pretend to work when it gets you what you want, but you won't put the energy in to think things through. It is a _fact_ that no ships left the harbor the night Scully disappeared, but because Blade told you some comforting lie that makes everything alright again, you refuse to believe it. He's poisoned your mind."

Plink glowered. "He ain't poisoned anything! He's a good captain!"

Ancora took a step back and frowned distastefully. "I don't have time to molly-coddle you with the truth. If you want to end up like Mister Craws, that's your business. I'm not dying here."

Plink listened to her steps diminish, but she didn't move to the corridor to watch her go. Instead, she glared at the stone floor and shored up the truth in her mind. She had been dreaming of a place like this all her life. Finally, she had beasts to back her up. Finally, she had beasts who valued her - Blade himself! It was more than she had ever dared hope to find.

And maybe there was a darker side to it all. Maybe Tooley and Vera had been distant and a bit unfriendly. Maybe Chak was still unnerving despite his obvious effort to be civil. Maybe the pencil and the button still waited at the bottom of her pocket, giving her heart a tiny, nasty leap each time her claws brushed them.

None of that mattered. When Scully came back from his mission, they would pick up where they'd left off. He would read her one of his poems about ships and captains and the wild sea, and Plink would marvel that those words could come to him from little symbols scratched on paper. Maybe, one day, he'd even teach her to understand them, too.

Scully wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Ciera was just trying to turn her against Captain Blade for some scheming reason of her own.

Well, she had failed. Plink reached in her pocket and closed her paw around the diamond. It didn't belong to her, and it had been wrong and short-sighted to steal it. It was exactly the sort of thing Ciera would expect a pirate to do. But Ciera wasn't right about everything.

Plink straightened up and marched out of the pantry. She'd just take it back, and nobeast would be the wiser.

Blade was her captain. Not Ciera Ancora.

* * *

It took hours for daylight to diminish in the harbor and be replaced with the short, warm light of torches. The crowd of pirates thinned, but the slaves kept coming long after dinner had ended. Plink grew impatient and finally crept into the shadows to climb the wall despite the guards and smattering of lingering pirates, figuring they would be blinded by the light of their gathered torches.

She climbed up the mole's chimney and poked her head out with carefully flattened ears. The mushroom chamber was brighter than she was used to, lit by a couple of half-expired firefly lanterns left on the floor. All seemed quiet. Plink climbed out of the hole and picked her way toward the dagger room.

She was all the way across the chamber when she spied torchlight leaping up from the tunnel ahead. Plink spun back, thinking to hide in the chimney again, but a scraping near the mushrooms announced the arrival of another beast from that direction. She couldn't close the distance to her hiding place in time.

Panicking, Plink whirled around, searching for some immediate escape. By the lantern light, she spied a hole in the wall at the level of her knees and, without a second thought, dove inside.

For a moment, Plink held perfectly still, listening to the clank of chains and the weary groans of slaves.

"Ayyew! Quit slackin'!"

The crack of the flail sounded just outside the hole, and the beast who took the blow grunted deep in his chest. Plink crept farther into the hole, not noticing the steep slope of the tunnel until her paws skidded out from under her and she went sliding down, down into the dark.

She came to a stop and uncovered her head only to be assailed by a vile stench. Ahead, she saw the yellow light of torches, and she could hear the huffing sounds of a beast weeping quietly.

 _…_ _or wriggle through the wormhole  
t'where screams be th' only words._

Plink wanted to turn around at once and climb back up to the mushroom chamber. She would wait right there at the opening, where the air smelled only of musty, wet stone, and the slaves would go away, and she would return the diamond and climb back down to the harbor.

She certainly didn't want to know what waited there ahead of her in that hot light. She sat back and made to turn around.

"Miss Rosie," said a familiar voice. "Are you alright in here?"

Plink froze, and didn't really hear whatever it was Miss Rosie was saying in her gracious, anxious voice. The charcoal pencil jabbed Plink's side from inside her pocket as she crawled toward the light and looked over the ledge and down at the beasts in the small room below.

And there he was. Robert Rosequill, peering toward the embarrassed-looking mouse beside him. He smiled the same kind smile Plink remembered, but by the torchlight she could see how wasted and weary he was, how ragged his jacket had become since she woke under it not two weeks ago.

"…never thought it'd hurt just to have some hope again, Rob." The mouse hugged him briefly, tightly, and Plink could see the fresh tears squeeze out of her swollen eyes. "Bless you," she whispered, then scurried out the door to whatever chamber was beyond.

The hedgehog heaved a breath when she was gone and dug his claws between the prickles on his neck. He looked worried. Plink watched him, wanting to speak but afraid of what she might say. Afraid of what he might say to her, now. When he took a step toward the door, though, she forced out a mumble.

"M-Mister Robert."

His eyes snapped up to her, wide with alarm and sudden hope. He blinked hard and looked at her again. "Plink! You're alright!"

It was obvious - of course she was alright, she was with her people - but the words, spoken with such naked relief, hit her like a blow. Plink found herself climbing out of the tunnel and over the ledge, in such a hurry that she lost her grip and fell a bit farther than she had anticipated. She teetered on the edge of the shallow pit that ran the length of the room.

"Careful!" Robert scooped her into a hug and guided her back to safety. "Wouldn't want to fall in there…"

He didn't let her go, and Plink stiffened in the warm cage of his arms. This wasn't a thing she should allow. Pirates didn't hug fat old hedgehogs.

But Robert was warm and solid, and he cradled the back of her head in a way that reminded her of her ma. Plink hadn't realized how achingly cold her ears were until his palm pressed against them.

She flung her arms around his waist and mashed her cheek against his soft belly, digging her claws into the fabric of his jacket. For a long moment, she stayed there, listening to Robert murmur comforting sounds with one ear pressed against him so his words both echoed in the stone room and hummed through his chest and into her head.

"You can't be here," she finally choked, then remembered herself and drew back, scrubbing her damp cheeks. "You smell like rotten eggs."

"That'd be the brimstone," Robert said, releasing her easily. "Smellin' nice ain't quite a priority lately." He was still smiling, resting a paw on her shoulder as if to reassure himself she was really there. "I'm so glad to see you, lass."

Plink nearly smiled up at him, but the crack of the flail was fresh in her memory. She cringed and couldn't quite meet his eye. Robert had been up in the crater all this time. There were marks on him where some brute had probably struck him.

Maybe Chak.

"You cain't be thinkin' any o' this was your fault, now, lass," Robert said gently.

Plink scowled. "That ain't what I was thinkin'." She looked back up at the hedgehog and let the scowl slip away. "You've gotta get outta here. An'… an' all these others, too. That tunnel up there can take you straight to the harbor. There're plenty of ships there. You could take one an' be gone before anybeast saw it comin'."

Robert frowned faintly in astonishment and peered up at the entrance to the tunnel - from this angle, it just looked like one more dip in the irregular ceiling. "Well, wouldn't you know it…"

Plink tugged on his coat until he looked at her again. "Is Crue in here with you?"

Robert shook his head. "They took her back to that village - you saw."

"Aye… just… I was just hopin'."

"She's alright though. Been busy! She has a plan we're supposed to be waitin' for."

"A plan?" Plink asked, heart racing alternately with anticipation and fear. "What's her plan?"

"Cain't say as I know, but knowin' Miss Crue, it'll be somethin' thorough."

Plink frowned down at the floor, struggling to hide her alarm. She wanted Robert and the other slaves to go free, but she couldn't shake the fear that Crue's plan would do more than just free the woodlanders. Plink had a life here in the Dead Rock, a place. What if Crue meant to somehow destroy that?

"Is Scully doin' alright?"

Plink chewed at her thumbclaw, barely looking at the hedgehog. "Cap'n Blade sent him on a secret mission. He's comin' back, just… not fer a while."

"A secret mission, huh?" Robert asked softly, his brows knit. "Sounds mighty important for one leveret."

"It _was_ important. He didn't have time to say g'bye or anythin'. He dropped his book an' couldn't even come back to get it." Plink dug the slim book from her pocket and held it up like proof. "See?"

Robert eyed the frayed cover. The furrow in his brow did not ease. "Aye. That's his book, alright."

Plink jammed it back in her pocket, glaring. "I know what yer thinkin', an' yer wrong."

He just blinked, bewildered.

"Yer wrong, an' Cap- an' _Ciera Ancora's_ wrong, too! Cap'n Blade wouldn't kill Scully. He just wouldn't. A ship came an' got him an' left the same night, that's all."

Robert did not look convinced. He looked like he'd just received terrible news. Plink swallowed back frustrated tears and balled up her fists.

"He ain't dead," she insisted.

Robert dug his claws through his quills. "I reckon you'd know better'n me about it," he said.

Plink didn't believe he really meant this, and she drew breath to argue, but there was a clank from the adjoined room and a screech of hinges. Robert's eyes bulged.

"You'd best not be seen down here, lass," he said, boosting her back up to the tunnel opening.

Plink climbed in and peered back down at him, eyes flicking toward the doorway. "Come with me."

Robert shook his head. "I cain't leave all these beasts behind. It'll take some doin' to get us all ready - an' a mighty big distraction to keep anybeast from noticin' we're gone before we're safe." He glanced over his shoulder, listening to the harsh tones of a guard and the yelp that followed.

"When'll you be ready? I can help," Plink whispered, leaning as far down as she could.

Robert smiled at her, but he looked frightened. "You just let us worry about all that, alright lass? Keep yourself safe in the meantime."

Plink shook her head and started to argue, but the hedgehog had already turned to hurry out of the room. She listened for a moment to the building situation, but then a whip cracked and Plink scrambled to climb back to the mushroom chamber. Fresh secrets burned at the back of her mind and, in her pocket, Blade's diamond prodded her like an accusing finger.


	63. Leading the Witness

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Leading the Witness**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

When evening approached and she was confined to her room, Crue's had little to do but wonder about the fate of the slaves in Dead Rock. A week and a half had passed since she had first visited Blade. Every evening she couldn't help but see them in her minds eye, growing ever weaker in the sulfur mines while Blade enjoyed his poached fish and cushioned couches and his power grew with each passing hour. She pined to act, to find the right opportunity to speak up and tell someone the truth about the identity of the Fire God.

"Priest!" called a gruff, throaty voice. Crue's ears perked up as she recognized the speaker and listened carefully for a response.

Crue peered out from behind the curtain, careful not to rustle the fabric as she watched Shuga walk slowly toward the entryway. Dekeft had not entered the priest's home since Crue's arrival, and neither had she heard them say more than a few words to each other at a time. She was not going to miss a chance to hear why Dekeft had come today.

The High Priest and the First Atilak faced one another. The former in his typical robes of red and black, snake staff in paw and necklaces rattling lightly against his chest. The latter sported the elaborate headdress that signified his authority, its long feathers brushing the ceiling and stone beads catching the candlelight.

"V'y haf you come, Dekeft?" Shuga asked, annoyed by the intrusion.

"Shuga, we haf meal we will share wit' Crue." In addition to his words, Dekeft's posture showed that this was not a request.

"She done mush today. She need sleep, ayah."

"Crue ees strong for small beastah. Mi munga mehk speeshul meal and to revive te healer."

Shuga took a step closer toward Dekeft, and while the priest was a half-head shorter, he knew where his power lie. "We go early to seekuh Fiyah Gott. She need to rest en' prepare for visit to mounteen."

Dekeft's lip curled ever so slightly and he leaned in toward Shuga. "Why you go tomorrow? Treebute not enough to provide tik Fiyah Gott."

Shuga's eyes shifted slightly to the right for a fraction of a second. "I haf keeft tik Fiyah Gott. He weel accept it."

Crue could see Dekeft growing frustrated as his tan, brindled fur stood on end and the black tip of his dark tail twitched. Despite his insistence, it was obvious he would not defy the decision of the High Priest outright. Eager to keep Shuga from dominating the situation further, Crue stepped out from behind the curtain, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as she could manage.

"Dekeft, how good to see you!" she greeted. She nodded in deference to Shuga before she turned toward her guest. "I would be very happy to join you for a meal! After traipsing through the jungle all day to ready the shrines to Ku'ryg, Mai'ryg, and Lo'ryg, food will help me to recover more than sleep at this point. And I haven't seen your son Drehm in days! I heard that your wife has recently finished displaying the snake king's skull in the-"

"Bah, teeny beasty speekah too much!" Shuga proclaimed.

Crue's delighted expression did not falter. If he forbade her to leave now with the one who owed her a debt, he would be revealing the fact that she was a prisoner rather than a guest. His expression warned her of his anger as he stated, "Remember t'at you go to Fiyah Gott tomorrow."

"I will."

She followed Dekeft out the door. Crue kept the spring in her step until they were halfway to the hunter's den, then allowed the weariness she felt after the day's work to show. However, as soon as they arrived at their destination, the rich, spicy scent of supper filled her nostrils and she sighed with pleasure.

Once they stepped down into the den, Crue was greeted by a large viper skull hanging from the ceiling. Other snake skulls and fangs adorned the walls and bright feathers added splashes of color to the room. Dekeft pulled a curtain across the entryway and turned to the squirrel. "Weelcome, Crue Sarish! Mi family care for you wit' food and drink, honor you wit' time, and show t'anks for your heal of Drehm."

Not sure what the proper response was for such an official welcome, she smiled and stated, "I thank you for the honor you bestow upon me. I look forward to sharing this meal with you and your family."

Dekeft slowly smiled, and led her through several rooms. In their dining room, the food was set out on red clay plates atop a low wooden table. A blanket of woven grass had been dyed a myriad of bright colors and now sat on the floor before the table. Laika, Dekeft's wife, sat next to her son, and both of them rose when she entered the room. Crue smiled at the happy family, and she felt more at home here than she had in a very long time.

"Welcome to our den, Meess Crue," Drehm called out.

"Thank you, Drehm." She grinned at his use of the word "miss." She then turned to Laika. "Thank you for inviting me to your home."

"Our den ees happy you are here. Leet us grow strong vit' t'is meal toged'er!" she replied, waving a paw toward the steaming dishes.

Crue was delighted by the foods that had been prepared for that evening, most of them made without meat. Atop the table sat a thick, spicy yam soup, spiced coconut pancakes topped with mango and cinnamon, and cold, halved papayas that had been poached in a cinnamon and lime syrup. The smell caused both her mouth to water and her nose to run as she sat down on the blanket with the others.

After a course of pancakes, Crue lowered her voice and addressed Dekeft. "How many times have you seen the Fire God?"

Unprepared for the question, there was a moment of silence before he spoke. "I… haf seen Fiyah Gott… four times. I em more busy t'en many, en' he has shown seelf to ot'er monkoozers more."

"Only four times in ten seasons?" Crue repeated, her brow furling slightly as she took in that tidbit of information. She had to refrain from making a scathing remark regarding how much Blade actually seemed to care about his followers. "And he always shows himself in the robes and mask?"

"Ya, ayah!" Dekeft let out a small laugh. "Fiyah Gott ken no more change hees fur t'en we ken."

Crue almost laughed. "Well, what do you think about the Fire God? What kind of God is he?"

The elder mongoose looked to Laika and Drehm, an uncertain expression on his face. His wife's face was neutral, as if encouraging him to make up his own mind. "He ees te gott we see. He ees te gott vit powah of mountain, who shook ground ven he first come. He keef us knives an' speers stronger t'an rock, an' viktry over te sneeks. He keef Shuga fiyah powah, too."

Crue had heard all of this from other mongooses who touted the Fire God's benevolence and generosity, but the story she was told was always the same, as if they had forgotten the way life had been before the Fire God had arrived.

"Does he allow you to honor and care for your other gods?"

"Vell… te priests tek care of te ot'er gods."

"Why? Is your care and honor of those gods any less pure than that of the priests?" She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "Is the Fire God so jealous that he will not allow you to care for those your elders honored before you were born? _And_ , why does he need small things like pretty stones and shiny buttons? Why does he demand sacrifices when your other gods are satisfied with your kindness?"

Dekeft's face vacillated between indignation and guilt as he seriously pondered the questions. She hoped it wasn't too much too soon, but she was running out of time. She wanted to see Lakai and Drehm's reactions to what she'd said also, but she didn't take her eyes off of the mongoose leader.

"T'ese are questions for priest," he muttered and turned his head away.

"That's what you said when te Fiyah Gott come," his wife spoke up. Her voice was gentle and her amber-colored eyes gave him a knowing look. "But eet not stop you from wanting to see te mountain wit' your own eyes."

Dekeft growled, obviously displeased that she had spoken thusly. Laika growled back, her teeth bared and her expression quickly turning fierce. Though her words were quiet, her passion spoke volumes. "You are First Atilak to t'e tribe, mungo, but I am Second, _ayah_! I hunt by your side! I lead ven you can not! I speak ven you _will_ not!"

"Munga-" Dekeft implored, but Laika would not be deterred.

"Crue Sarish speekuh true ef Fiyah Gott. You speekuh true to her ef Dead Rock or _I_ speekuh for you."

Crue bit her lip and watied.

Dekeft didn't speak for a few seconds, but he eventually succumbed to his wife's unyielding stare and flicked a paw in the air in surrender. Drehm scooted closer to hear the story.

"Ven Fiyah Gott come, he speekuh to Priest Shuga. Shuga say he promees monkoozers dat no more die in Dead Rock, t'at te fiyah in te mountain no more burn Ku'ryg, te smoke no more blind Lo'ryg, en' te ash no more choke Mai'ryg. He keef keeft of knifes t'at no break. En' ven night come, we see hees _floating den_ , ayah, lit by blue fiyah and te wings froze in te wind. Te floating den appeah some nights after, seen wit' blue fiyah en' t'en gone.

"We no see te Fiyah Gott for a whole moon-turn. He speekah only to Shuga, show him favah over all monkoozers, en' Fiyah Gott appeah en' make him High Priest. He speekah to me an ask me to listen to Shuga, who be hees voice to monkoozers. I not be First Atilak for long en' I say yes to te Fiyah Gott.

Dekeft glanced at his eager audience and shifted closer toward them. "One night, I see te floating den return to mountain. I want to see where eet live, so I leave village and run t'rough jungle until I reach ocean. I teek raft 'round side ef mountain, and see t'at ocean go into te mountain. I follow an see te floating den next to teeny bridge. No beast come een or out of den, so I am going to floating den to see eet closer. I am 'bout to entah ven I hear loud _**BOOM**_ an I row away!" He thrust his paws into the air and his audience flinched at the noise. "I fearuh te wrat' of te Fiyah Gott, ayah, an go back to village, an no speakuh to no one but Laika.

"One season later, he bring fiyah out ef Dead Rock. He show monkoozers fiyah from hees paws, t'en he keef fiyah to Shuga in return for sacrifice. We keef him snehks, en' then other strange beastah come out of the water en' we give them to Fiyah Gott, too. Prickledogs, Bushtails, Long-eyas, Snehketails, Sleekfurs, en' ot'ers all go to Fiyah Gott. Some sacrifices, some go to te Hellgates. No beast evah come out."

He paused before confessing, "I no more go to te mountain 'less Shuga say to come. I hear t'under ef te Fiyah Gott on ocean, but I no want to hear t'under again on t'is island."

Crue took a moment to allow pieces of his story to fit into place to coincide with what she had been through in the last three weeks. "Could you find your way back to the floating den?" Crue asked. She leaned closer to Dekeft as she waited for the response.

The mongoose looked her in the eye, his expression wary.

She looked over toward Laika and asked the female, "As Second Atilak, would you permit your First Atilak to show me where he went?"

Dekeft opened his mouth to protest, but Laika silenced him with a look. "We owe you debt, Crue Sarish. You wish to see vat Dekeft seen, but eef you go alone, you may die. Mi mungo keep you alive."

As Dekeft capitulated, Crue wondered how many of the tribe's more important decisions had _actually_ been Laika's. She decided to leave that as a topic for another time, as they now had important plans to make. She would have to head back to Shuga's den before he came looking for her and overheard their plans. At Dead Rock tomorrow morning, she would find a way to get a message to Robert or Chak to let them know that whether she succeeded or failed, it would be soon.

"Tomorrow night," Crue stated, "we will see what Hell is really like."


	64. A Time for Action

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **A Time for Action**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

Robert heaved another large chunk of sulfur into the baskets on his back. After weeks of work, his arms and back still screamed for him to stop, but he no longer paid them mind. To while away the agonizingly slow days, he would count the chunks as he gathered them, but that would no longer help. Robert could only think of the news Plink brought him.

 _That poor lad. He didn't deserve any o' this. He was jus' a young'un. . .ain't no idea what he was gettin' into. . ._

Blade was to blame, Robert thought. First he ruined the Badgerlord, sending him into madness. Then he attacked the Waverunners and pirates alike, stranding them all on this Fates forsaken island. Worst of all, he killed Scully, an innocent child.

 _He needs to be stopped…_

Robert grunted in frustration and angrily chucked a slab of sulfur into his basket. The sulfur crashed into the others in the basket, the force sending the hedgehog tumbling to the ground. The baskets spilled their contents, each chunk breaking apart as they smashed into the dirt floor. Robert scrambled to pick up the chunks, vainly attempting to clear it all before Torin noticed.

"Oy, Grovelhog!"

"Blast it all. . . " Robert cursed to himself, continuing to snatch up the sulfur.

Torin was grinning ear to ear as he ambled over to the hedgehog. The wildcat squeezed and bent his whip as he neared. Robert refused to look up at him as he worked.

"What're ye doin' droppin' the goods again, ye clumsy lout!" The wildcat viciously boxed the back of Robert's head, dazing him for a moment. "Ye get to pick an extra basket full tomorrow for that!"

Working through the stars in his eyes, Robert managed to pick up the mess and scurry to his feet. "Aye, Torin, sir, whatever you say."

Torin's grin twisted into a slight snarl, clearly disappointed. Rearing up his whip, he started for Robert, causing the hedgehog to flinch. The wildcat seemed more content with this and chuckled.

"Aye then, Grovelhog," Torin sneered, "you get that haul back to the wagons. An' don' go droppin' 'em again, or I'll give ya one lick for each one that touches the dirt, har har!"

Robert nodded, rushing to join the other slaves on their way to the wagons. He managed to find Frederick and fell in step with the hare. The colonel's eyes were as distant as always, barely noticing Robert as the hare limped his way to the wagons.

"How you holdin' up, Fred?" asked Robert, sounding as distant as the hare looked. Frederick only grunted in response. Robert breathed in deeply, preparing himself to break the news to the tired hare.

"Aye, well. . . I didn' know how to tell you, so I'll jus' say it now. I jus' found out. . . that. . . Scully's. . . "Robert paused, trying to keep from spluttering the terrible news. "Scully's dead, sir. Blade. . . he killed him. . ." He cracked after that, and could feel several tears spill down his cheeks. Frederick placed a paw on the hedgehog's shoulder.

The hare was silent for a moment before he spoke. "That's. . . that's sad news, Robert." Frederick squeezed his eyes shut, curling his paws into fists. "He betrayed us, wot. Left us all in the bally jungle. The other Waverunners were calling for his head, but. . .he was just a child, Robert. He didn't know what he was getting into."

"Aye, an' that's the tragedy o' it all!" Robert replied angrily. "He was jus' a lad, in over his head! An' he was killed for it. Ain't no point to it. Ain't no reason for it. Jus' Blade bein' the wicked scum he is! An' somethin' needs to be done, afore he be killin' any other poor souls not deservin' o' it."

"Aye," said Frederick. "Something indeed."

"You seen Hylan about?" continued the hedgehog. He had a new found determination in his eyes. Frederick grunted again, and flicked his head slightly towards his right. Robert looked for the disfigured marten, spotting him plodding along with another group of slaves. Breaking away from Frederick, he made his way towards the marten, taking the usual care to not draw Torin's attention as he did.

"Hylan," Robert whispered to the marten once he was in earshot. "We need to talk. An' not jus' me an' you either."

"What do you mean, Robert?"

"I want to talk to your contact," Robert replied flatly.

"I don't know if I can get a hold of her," Hylan said. "It isn't easy talking with Torin and everyone around."

"Well make it happen," Robert urged. "I cain't take any more o' this waitin'. Ain't jus' me, neither. We be losin' bodies left an' right, every day."

Hylan frowned in thought. "It will be a challenge to get her for sure, especially alone. But I agree with what you're saying, Robert. I can't just sit around anymore either. It's time we did something."

"When do you think we can speak with her?" Robert whispered.

"She's working as a cook, so only at meal time," Hylan whispered back. "But she'll be watched by any an everybeast around her as she serves."

"Well then," Robert replied. "We'll just need to keep our heads down 'til then an' hope for the best, mate."

The hedgehog glanced to the side of Hylan, noticing Torin stomping towards the wagons. Hylan followed Robert's gaze, and saw the wildcat himself. With a quick nod, the marten broke away from his fellow slave, quick to get out of the cat's line of sight. Robert stole his way back to his own group, just before the wildcat began to shout obscenities his way. With a sigh of relief, the navigator braced himself for the next few hours.

* * *

"Aye, ye can stop now! Gruel time!" Torin shouted, accompanied with the usual crack of his whip. "Get your hauls to the wagon an' eat, ye sad lumps!"

Robert dropped the last bit of sulfur he was holding into his overstuffed baskets and heaved himself to his footpaws. Trying his best not to rush to the wagons, he quickly dropped the contents of his baskets into the wagons, fumbling about in his hurry. Luckily Torin hadn't seen him. The hedgehog then nimbly maneuvered through the crowd of trodden slaves on their way to a bowl of gruel until he found himself next to Hylan. The marten noticed him and nodded in greeting.

"So who is this we'll be talkin' with exactly?" Robert asked in a hushed tone.

"Her name's Vera. She's a vixen, and a sharp one at that." Hylan answered. "There's just one problem, and that's her boss, Clus." The marten pointed a claw towards a rat who was grouchily handing slaves their bowls of mush.

Robert's brows furrowed together in thought. He watched as the vile rat slopped gruel into the bowls of eager and hungry slaves. After each sickening plop of mushy food fell from the cook's ladle, Clus cursed, moving to adjust his cart, which rattled with the slightest touch. Robert smiled.

"Aye, I think I got an idea."

The hedgehog slipped away from the line, leaving a confused marten behind. Robert easily found Frederick slouching alone, away from his fellow hungry slaves. Nearing the downtrodden hare, Robert tried getting his attention.

"Eh, er. . .Frederick," he began. The hare barely looked up.

"Aye, Robert? Any good news on the horizon?"

"Well . . ." Robert began, dreading what he was about to ask. "Not really, no. I jus' need to ask you for a favor. . ."

The hare scoffed. "Aye, an' I'm just the beast for the job then, wot? You need me to stumble about or something?"

"Ah. . . yes, actually. . ."

Frederick simply gave the hedgehog a dead-eyed stare, a slight smirk creeping onto his face. "Where and when?"

Moments later, Robert watched the hare walk in line with the other slaves, waiting with a bowl for a serving of gruel. Robert could tell the hare was making a show of it too, exaggerating his limp with each step. Once the scrawny vole in front of the colonel dashed away with his meal, the rat cook motioned for him to be served.

"Come on yew lump, I ain't got all day. An' neither do ye, har. . ."

Frederick limped forward, then expertly stumbled over a rock and crashed into the cart, taking the screaming rat down with him.

"What in the 'gates is wrong with ye?!" Once the rat managed to get to his footpaws, he kicked down the hare as he tried to stagger upright as well. The rat kicked him again, and then once more, before yanking the hare to his feet. "Ye ain't be gettin' fed today, nor tomorrow fer this!"

The rat threw the hare back to the ground, Frederick yelping in pain as he hit the dirt. Robert did his best not to run to his friend's aid, knowing it would ruin any chance of speaking with anyone. Swearing to no one in particular, the rat shouted off towards some unseen beast.

"Vera! Yew get yer tail an' clean this mess up!" Looking back down to Frederick, he spit. "An' I'll be getting' someone to deal with ye, don' you worry." Robert swallowed, suddenly realizing what could happen to his poor friend now.

 _I'm sorry, Fred. I'll get you back for this one someday, I promise._

The rat stormed off, still mumbling to himself. As he left, a vixen appeared to take his place at the overturned cart, picking it up and bending over to clean the spills. Robert recognized the vixen. She was with him at the sacrifice, terrified with the rest of them. His heart warmed to her immediately, glad she was faring better now than then.

Glancing around, Robert saw no sign of Torin, but found Hylan watching from a distance as well. With a motion of his paw, Hylan made his way to the cart, with Robert closing in as well. As he approached, Vera glanced up from her work, then looked to Hylan and smiled a small smile.

"Hylan!" she whispered.

"Hello, Vera." the marten replied, then motioned to Robert. "This is Robert."

"Robert?" the vixen whispered.

The hedgehog nodded. "Aye, how're you, miss? An' how's Crue holdin' up?"

"I'm fine, and Crue. . . I don't know, I haven't seen her since she told me she had a plan." Vera looked around cautiously. "Aren't you worried one of the slaves will hear us? I don't think they'd like you talking to me, they might tell someone."

"We ain't worried about any o' them," Robert replied. "They either know we've got somethin' in the works, or they're too far gone to care. An' that's why we be talkin', you see."

The vixen nodded. "I know, I know, and I'm sorry, but I don't have anything to tell you."

Robert could barely contain his frustration. "I know we gotta wait, but waitin' just ain't helpin' us out none. Every day these poor souls be losin' more o' their hope o' gettin' out o' here, an' soon they'll be losin' their will to even get up in the mornin'. These Waverunners have been me mates for seasons, an' I cain't recognize half o' them anymore. We need somethin' to happen, an' it needs to be soon. Now'd be even better if'n we could."

Slightly ruffled and seemingly wary of Robert's rising tone, the vixen nodded. "I understand, but we have to wait for Crue's opportunity to present itself. I'd like to help, but I don't know what we can do _but_ wait."

"Well, convincing that wildcat to give us a rest would be nice," Hylan snorted. Robert's ears pricked up, and he grinned.

"Aye, Hylan, you be right. If only Torin could take a sick day, eh?"

"What are ye saying, Rob?" Hylan asked, curious.

"I'm jus' sayin' gettin' Torin off our backs for the next few days would be nice," Robert began. "So's we could gather our strength for the big escape. Ain't there some way we could do that? Or at least, you could do that, Miss Vera?"

"You mean, give him. . .bad food?" the vixen replied, eyebrows raised.

Hylan nodded in thought, suddenly grinning. "Yeah, don't you have some 'special' herbs with you to make that sod sick?"

"I _did_ , but not anymore. I lost it on the _Maiden_ when she sank. All I have to work with is mush and paste for you lot."

Hylan groaned, but Robert continued to nod.

"Aye, I understan', miss. But it was a nice thought, heh heh heh. Well, jus' to be sure you know, there's somethin' that might interest you, an' Crue." The hedgehog leaned in closer, now deciding to take Vera's advice and whisper. "There's a secret an' pretty sizable tunnel, over near the latrines."

"What? Really?!" Hylan nearly shouted, but managed to contain himself. "Why didn't you tell anybody, Robert? We could have been _long_ gone by now!"

"I understan', an' that's why we came to talk to Miss Vera here," Robert replied. "I was hopin' for more immediate answers, but that ain't happenin'. So now I'm jus' sayin' the option's available for when, and ONLY when we can take it."

"Well we can take it tonight!" Hylan began, but Robert stopped him.

"Trus' me, I'd be more'n happy to be rid o' this place, but we cain't leave anyone behind, an' that'd be hundeds o' poor souls that ain't got a clue o' what to do. Crue's plan is the distraction we need to put it to good use. An' I'm goin' to need you to tell her that for me, Miss Vera.

Vera, her eyes wide with the news, nodded. "Yes. . . I can do that." Glancing around, she continued, "You should go. Clus could be back any second now."

"Aye," said Robert. "It's been mighty fine meetin' you proper, Miss Vera. Until next time, hopefully on the same side." The hedgehog smiled, then began to leave.

"Nice meeting you too, Mister Robert. Hylan, be careful."

Hylan hastily responded with his own farewells before rushing back to Robert. "Why didn't you tell me about this "secret tunnel" you have?! How could you keep that from me?"

"Because I knew you'd want to leave right then an' there," the hedgehog answered. "An' we gotta wait, unfortunately. It's too risky, we need the plan to be in motion to use it freely. Cain't afford even the smalles' chance o' losin' that tunnel."

After a moment of Hylan contemplating, the marten finally nodded. With that, Robert bid goodbye, and slipped away into the crowd of slaves. Once safe from the prying gaze of the beasts in charge, Robert reached into his pocket for the pin Frederick had given him. Looking over it, the hedgehog squeezed it in his paw.

 _We'll be takin' that monster down for sure._


	65. A Shortcut to What?

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **A Shortcut to What?**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

Vera paced back and forth in the cooks' sleeping quarters just off the kitchens. Fishlug, Clus and the others were out in the kitchen, laughing over their drinks and gambling as usual during their break. Vera had intended on taking a nap, but sleep fled from her.

Hylan was alive.

Hylan was a slave.

Never in her life had Vera felt so much joy and so much sorrow over one single thing. She'd long given him up as dead and had tried to banish him from her mind because the memory of his laugh, and the jokes, and the way he helped her feel like somebeast cared for her had been just too painful.

Here he was, trapped in hell.

The Hylan of Dead Rock was a ghost of the beast she'd known.

She choked back another sob. _Has he been a slave this whole time? Stuck in that mine? While I was at_ The Staff and Flask _and working at Fort Blackfur, was he here? How could anybeast survive that long under those conditions?_

Vera forced herself to take a few deep breaths. _It doesn't matter. The past doesn't matter. What matters is now. Now. How can I help Hylan?_

She walked over to her pallet and sat down. She looked at her paws, which the squirrel Crue had tended to earlier in order to whisper her message.

"Do you know Robert? Tell him Crue has a plan," Vera had whispered to Hylan. Seeing Chak back in the role of a slavedriver had made her wary of passing Crue's message to him and she had no clue who Robert was at the time, but Hylan had nodded at the name.

Vera lowered her paws onto her lap. Her eyes were drawn to her apron. She still wore the tattered, stained, blue apron she'd been wearing the night of the attack on the _Silver Maiden_. She picked at a rip in the fabric. It was as tattered as she felt. Shifting her position, she reached behind herself, untied it, then slipped it off. Leaving it sitting on her pallet, she went out into the kitchen where, several unused aprons hung. The pirate cooks usually grabbed a clean one when what they wore got too filthy. She picked a clean green one that looked about the right size. Clus glanced at her once, then turned back to the dice on the table.

Back to their quarters she strolled with apron in paw. She returned to sit upon her pallet and examined the apron carefully. It had two sizable pockets in the front and it was of two layers of fabric much like her old one. She hopped up and slunk across the room to where one of the other cooks slept. He had a small sewing kit in his belongings and she borrowed a needle, a length of thread, and a small set of shears. Sitting back down, she got to work modifying the apron to her liking.

As she stitched, she thought back to the hurried, whispered conversation between Hylan and Robert. Hylan had introduced her to the hedgehog Robert, but something in Hylan's eyes worried her. It was as if he wanted to make sure Vera knew who else to turn to if something were to happen to him. The brands on his face and his missing tail were a testament that Hylan was not a meek and pliable slave. Those were two words that never would have described the Hylan of her past.

She thought back to what Hylan and Robert had asked of her. Some way to poison the pirates. She regretted the bag she'd left hanging on a hook in the _Silver Maiden's_ galley. That bag had contained all her belongings and a small selection of special herbs that one of her previous employers had taught her how to use.

Those herbs were long gone, so Vera had to come up with some way to sicken or kill the pirates, and she had to come up with it fast.

When she was finished with her modifications on the green apron, she reached into the hidden pocket of her old apron and pulled out a pair of clamshells held together with a strip of blue fabric. Folded between the shells, safe and dry from the splashes and splatters of a kitchen day, was the little drawing that had been in Fildering's pocket. She slid the shells into the hidden pocket and looked at the apron again, turning it this way and that to see if the pocket was too visible. Satisfied with her work, she set it aside and folded her old apron neatly.

Slipping the new apron on over her head and tying it felt oddly strengthening. She smoothed down the front, feeling the rough bump of the shells over her sore paws. It reminded her of the amulet Blade still held, of everything that had happened over the last few weeks, and more importantly, it reminded her of a promise she made to herself.

 _I'm getting off this island, and I'm taking Hylan with me. I can't afford to be lost in my own thoughts anymore. For Hylan's sake, I've got to change._

* * *

Later, Vera stood up to her elbows in the dirty dinner dishes when a pair of weasels walked into the kitchen. She glanced once, then again as she recognized a tattered, patchwork hat on the head of the younger weasel.

Tooley.

"Fishlug, Captain Blade heard y' needed more help," the older weasel said, his paw on Tooley's shoulder. "This here's Tooley."

"'Bout time Cap'n did somethin'. So short-pawed down 'ere..." Fishlug hollered over his shoulder. "Clus, let the vixen an' new blood here handle the gruel from now on. She know the ropes well enough."

"Aye," Clus said, giving Vera a nasty smirk.

Vera returned a pleasant smile. _Good riddance. I won't miss you hovering over me all the time._

The older weasel patted Tooley on the shoulder and said something to him, then gave him a light shove into the kitchen.

"Git workin' on them dishes, weasel," Fishlug snapped, which sent Tooley scurrying Vera's direction.

As he approached, Vera stepped over to make room for him at the wash basin. "Good to see you, Tooley."

Tooley looked up at her and blinked a few times. Then a slow smile spread across his face and his posture straightened. "Miss Vera?"

She managed a small smile of her own. "It's nice to see a friendly face down here, for once." She passed him one of the wash rags. "How have you been?"

Tooley took the rag and his shoulders drooped back down. "Oh... I been better." Then he looked back up at her and smiled again. "S'real good t' see ye, though."

"Likewise, Tooley," she said, and found herself surprised that she actually meant that. She glanced over her shoulder at Fishlug, who glared back. "Get busy washing," she whispered, "Fishlug'll give you a rap over the ears if you aren't fast enough."

Tooley ducked his head as if he expected it to happen at that moment and swished paws around in the water quickly. Vera snorted back a laugh and resumed her own washing.

When the dishes were dry and put away, Tooley looked around, his expression similar to that of a lost kit. "So, er, what 'm I serposed t' do 'ere?"

Vera crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. "I suppose whatever I tell you to do. Or whatever Fishlug or Clus tell you, but I think you'll be helping me feed the slaves." She looked over the kitchen. Fishlug, Clus, and the rest of the cooking crew had retreated to the table where they did their nightly gambling and drinking. "I usually fetch some fresh wash water from the harbor at this point. There's no time to do it in the morning."

Tooley quietly followed her about as she worked through her nightly duties of fetching water and preparing ingredients for the slaves' breakfast. The weasel was very quiet, lost in whatever thoughts rattled around in that head of his. A few times, Vera heard him take a breath as if he were going to say something, or look her way, but each time he frowned and looked back down. More than once, she noticed him fingering his tattered cap.

 _I should give him my old apron. It's got enough sound fabric on it to patch that thing up if he wants._

When the gruel pots were filled and set over the low fire that would cook them all night, Tooley finally spoke up. "Miss Vera? Do ye 'ave any friends?"

She had been wiping her knife clean and now she paused. She remembered Plink asking much the same question in the pit when Vera had been certain they were all about to die. She looked at Tooley, who met eyes with her. "Yes," she said quietly and laid her knife down on the table. "I have one."

Tooley sucked at his lip. "What made 'im yer friend?"

"Well... I guess it started when he stood up for me when nobeast else did. And he watched out for me." She smiled at the memories. "Oh, he kept me on my toes, too."

"Did 'e?"

"Yeah, he liked to play pranks, but I got him back sometimes." Vera leaned back against the table. "He learned never to steal cookies from me again."

Tooley cocked his head to the side. "Huh?"

Vera closed her eyes, remembering the empty cookie jar, the swaggering, grinning pine marten, the wooden spoon sailing across _The Staff and Flask's_ common room, and the laughter. She chuckled, shaking her head. "It's a long story. From better times."

 _Times I hope we can have again._

* * *

Next morning, Vera led the way down to the slave cells with Tooley behind her. She gave him brief instructions and pointed to the side of the cells that Clus always handled. She headed to her side. Hylan stood there already, waiting for her with his bowl.

"Who's the new guy?" he whispered, nodding to the weasel on the opposite side of the room.

She answered in an equally low tone. "His name's Tooley. He was with me on the _Silver Maiden_." She emptied a ladleful of gruel into his bowl.

"You trust him?"

"I don't trust anyone here." Vera moved down the line, giving each slave a scoop. Hylan followed just behind them, his ears perked in Vera's direction, while his eyes watched for signs of the slavedrivers on duty. "But, Tooley's not a threat. He's a bit simple, but I doubt he'd willingly work for Blade."

Hylan grunted something and tipped back his bowl for a swallow of the gruel. "Watch your back, Vers. Last thing I want is for you to end up here with us."

She continued filling bowls, while Hylan kept pace behind the slaves. She watched as he occasionally patted one on the shoulder or bent to whisper something. Vera recognized Robert as she worked and she returned the friendly nod he gave her. Then, she glanced across the room. Tooley worked slower than her, but at least he seemed to be making good time. More importantly, he wasn't paying any attention to what she was doing. Neither were Chak and the iron mine slavedriver, who stood near the entrance talking.

"Hylan?" she whispered. "Do you have any more ideas of how I can help get you out of here?"

Hylan took his eyes off of the slavedrivers for a moment to glance at her. "Keep your head down, Silvertooth. Don't draw attention to yourself. Knowin' I got a friend among the pirates will give me ammo to draw on."

She glared at him. "I'm not a pirate!"

Hylan chuckled. "Fates, Vera, I've missed that look. Just don't throw the spoon at me. I'm too tired to duck and dodge."

Something tightened in Vera's chest and she softened her expression. "What else can I do? There's got to be something!"

"Without those herbs, I don't know what else there is. Just, please, be careful! If anything were to happen to you, I'd never forgive myself."

Vera only had a few bowls left. "Don't worry about me."

He smiled. "Vers, I always worry about you. I've spent this whole time here worrying about you. That ain't gonna stop."

She reached the last bowl and filled it. She couldn't tarry any longer at the cell, especially since Tooley wasn't done yet. She looked back at Hylan once more as she started to walk away from the cell. He held up his bowl as if giving a toast, and then tipped it back to swallow down the rest.

* * *

"Miss Vera?" Tooley said beside her.

She looked up from the dishes she was busy washing. "Where have you been?" she whispered. After feeding the slaves breakfast, she'd sent Tooley to fetch a couple buckets of water from the harbor. That had been well over an hour before.

"Err..." he looked down and scratched at his head for a moment, then straightened and pulled out a piece of red fabric he'd tucked in his belt. It had a pair of teeth marks in it. "Miss Crue asked me t' give this t' ye."

"Vera!" Fishlug yelled, making them both jump. "Git in the supplies and find me them mushrooms."

Vera dropped the pan she was washing and grabbed the cloth from Tooley's paw. "Wash," she told him and scuttled off to the storeroom.

Once there, she unfolded the cloth and looked at the smudged charcoal writing.

 _Tomorrow, C.S._

Her breath caught in her throat. Already? Was Crue prepared to go forward with her plan? She examined both sides of the torn strip of cloth to make sure there wasn't any additional writing, then folded it up and tucked it in her hidden apron pocket.

 _Crue's ready tomorrow and I haven't had any time to figure out how to help!_

She dug out one of the big bags of dried mushrooms that one of the captains had brought from the mainland a few days before. She opened it up and began sifting through the dried husks. The earthy smell of the mushrooms reminded her of pleasant winter days spent down in the mole tunnels where Loamback had been more than happy to impart his knowledge of fungi to her.

She hesitated as she suddenly noticed a little thing among the mushrooms. Some of the mushrooms were a normal, fine brown color, but every few fungi or so, there was one with a yellowish white streak running through the core.

 _"_ _Burr, aye, these hur shroomers be bad uns, Miz Vera," Loamback had said. "Beasts whom don't know better picks 'em, thinkin they be the same. They ain't, boi okey they ain't. Make a beast sicker 'n sick iffn they eats 'em."_

Vera rummaged through the bag, noticing more and more streaks. There was no way to know which were good and which were bad at this point. It would be best to be on the safe side and just throw the whole bag out.

 _Wait... This is exactly what I need! How many of these are there?_

Vera shifted the whole bag to one side and went searching for the other bags. She found one and opened it up. A quick inventory revealed that all these mushrooms were good.

 _Am I remembering right about the mushrooms? How ill will they make a beast? Loamback said they'd be sick, but just how sick? I guess I'll have to experiment before tomorrow._ She grinned. _And I know just who to test them on!_

She grabbed a pawful of the bad mushrooms and tucked them in the hidden pocket of her apron, making sure the bulge didn't show. Then she retied the mouths of the mushroom bags and hid the bad one behind some other supplies. Picking up the bag of good mushrooms, she returned to the kitchen.

"What took ye!" Fishlug yelled as she left the mushroom bag on the table. She ducked under the spoon and scampered back to her dishes.

Vera watched as Fishlug prepared a mushroom soup for part of the lunch for Blade's beasts in Dead Rock. She couldn't help but shake her head as Fishlug worked. _Those mushrooms will be terribly overcooked by the time he's done, and he's using far too much salt._

A couple hours later, it was time to feed the slaves. Tooley loaded the gruel pot onto the trolley, while Vera spooned Fishlug's mushroom soup into a tureen for the slavedrivers. Bringing food to them was a recent development. The morning drivers had complained of never getting lunch because their shifts ended too late for them to get the food before it was cleaned up. So Vera had to figure out how to cart enough food for the drivers as well as the slaves. Easiest way, she found, was to tie a tray of grub for the slavedrivers to the top of the gruel pot. That left paws free to maneuver the pot up and down the tunnels.

A short time later, they returned to the kitchen to get the food for the sulfur mine's beasts. When Tooley's back was turned, Vera dug out the bad mushrooms from her apron pocket and tossed them into the soup intended for Chak and Torin. She gave it a good stir, mixing the dried mushrooms with Fishlug's overcooked, mushy ones. By the time the soup was actually eaten, her mushrooms would be a nice, plump consistency.

Together, Vera and Tooley pushed the trolley up the tunnel while pirates passed them coming and going. Vera kept her head down as she pushed, trying to figure out just how to tell Hylan about Crue's message and what she'd done with the soup. She needed to know the effect of the soup on the slavedrivers. If today's experiment worked, the bad mushrooms could find their way into the food fed to all of the pirates in Dead Rock tomorrow.

As they reached the sulfur mine, Vera instructed Tooley with the scarf over the snout trick and they got in position to feed the slaves. Vera watched as the miserable beasts lined up, looking over the yellow-dusted faces until she spotted the branded face of Hylan. They met eyes and he gave her a quick wink.

Just like he used to do back at _The Staff and Flask_. But there were no cheeky songs now. No laughter filling the air. She clenched her jaw tight and swallowed.

As Hylan stepped up to her for his bowl of food, Vera glanced down at the ladle in her paw and she had an idea.

 _Hope this isn't too hot._

She glanced at Hylan as she raised her ladle of food and missed the bowl, dumping the gruel down the front of her new apron.

She yelped and stumbled back. "You clumsy idiot! Look at what you did!" she hissed angrily. Tooley stopped what he was doing and stared at her wide-eyed.

Hylan snorted once and she saw him fighting to keep the smile off his face as he cringed back. "I'm sorry, miss! 'Twas an accident, on my honor it was."

"Tooley, keep working. I'll be right back." Vera glanced around, as if looking for one of the slavedrivers. Neither Chak or Torin were watching, so she grabbed Hylan by the arm and towed him over to where a water barrel sat. "You better get this cleaned up right now, you understand me!"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am. Don't beat me, ma'am." Hylan babbled all the way to the barrel.

Vera took off her apron and handed it to the pine marten. "Sorry," she whispered. "Hope this won't get you in trouble, but I needed to talk."

Hylan's eyes flicked to her face and then back down as he whispered back, "I'll manage. Nice idea, by the way, if you don't mind smelling like gruel all day."

She leaned close as he dipped a little water from the barrel and tried to rinse the worst of the sticky mess from the apron. "Message from Crue, in the side pocket there. And I put something in the slavedrivers' food. They should be sicker than a kit stuffed with candied chestnuts in a couple hours."

"Tsk, Vera," Hylan hissed, as he slipped a paw into the pocket and pulled out the scrap of cloth. "Don't you be takin' risks like that."

"Don't worry. Fishlug fixed the soup. I just dished it up. A poor vixen doesn't know a thing about mushrooms." She batted her eyelids innocently. "Let me know if it works. I can do it again."

He shook his head again, but he gave her a little smile. There was something else, too. A darker, more grim light in his eyes that she had never seen before. "Be careful. And thanks."

"I suppose that will do," she snarled as she snatched her apron back from Hylan. "Get your miserable hide back in line."

He winked at her, and tucked Crue's message inside his tattered tunic as he groveled before her. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

She returned to her duties at the gruel pot and gave Hylan a scoop of the gruel. She caught the shadow of a smile on his face as he scurried away.

Behind her on a rough table sat the tureen of mushroom soup for Chak and Torin. She didn't know if it would slow either of them down, but a few hours would tell.


	66. The Other Side of Silence

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **The Other Side of Silence**

 _By: Tooley_

* * *

Upon taking his first step out of the Dead Rock and into the sulfur mine, there were two things that Tooley noticed.

First was the stench. A foul, hot, rotten stink covered the mine like a plague. Tooley coughed underneath the kerchief wrapped around his head, wincing at the yellow dust that scratched at his throat and stung his eyes. The air was coated with the dust, so much so that the afternoon sun was dim above them, casting the world in a looming shadow.

Second were the beasts. As Vera and Tooley neared the edge of a massive crater, he spotted dozens of them inside. They stumbled about, lugging great baskets full of yellow rock over their shoulders. Occasionally, they would collapse. Some scrambled to their feet and hurried along before a whip cracked at them. Some simply never got back up.

His mind went back to earlier that morning, where he'd helped feed the slaves in their cells. Part of him couldn't believe these were the same beasts. This place did something to them. Robbed them of something.

A cold realization suddenly passed over him. This was a place without hope. Here, beasts went to die.

"Ahh, brought us lads some refreshments, aye?"

Tooley looked to see a rat walking over to them from a wagon. As he neared, he eyed the tray set atop the gruel pot, paws working in front of him as he licked his lips.

Vera untied the tureen from the tray and pulled it away before the rat's reaching paws brushed it. "This is for the drivers only. Fishlug's orders."

The rat scowled. "Eh, fine, ye fire-furred hussy." He turned and whistled sharply.

Another rat near the wagon hopped to his feet and began ringing a small, shrill bell. The slaves who still had yellow rock in their baskets emptied them out into the wagon, then began to form a line. Each would pass by a large bucket, pluck up a small bowl, then line up in front of either Tooley or Vera.

The first slave in front of Tooley was a mouse, probably in his late seasons, given the way his frayed fur splotched gray. His eyes were glazed over, and he held up his bowl listlessly. Tooley scooped up a helping of the sludgy gruel and ladled it into the outstretched bowl, unable to look away from the fresh cuts scoring the mouse's arms. The mouse made no motion of thanks, simply turning around and leaving.

The image of a broken, blinded badger, slumped within a deep pit flashed through Tooley's mind.

Tooley looked at the next slave. It was a mole, her cracked digging claws clacking against the clay bowl outstretched in quivering paws. In many ways, she looked as pitiful as the mouse, but her eyes were different. Though they were as raw and bloodshot as the mouse's had been, there was a hatred in them that said more than any words ever could have. And she was staring straight at Tooley.

"I-I..." Tooley sputtered, suddenly feeling the need to apologize. To let her know that he wished he could help. That he didn't like this. That it wasn't his fault.

But nothing came out. No answer he could find would soften those eyes.

Unable to stand the mole's gaze any longer, Tooley quickly dumped a gruel-filled ladle over the mole's bowl. He missed it by a bit, and there was a wet 'thwock' as a mushy dumpling hit the ground. The mole didn't even seem to notice. She simply turned and began to hobble her way across the mine.

Tooley stared at her, even long after she had disappeared among the other slaves.

"Keep going, Tooley," Vera said softly beside him.

Tooley jerked up from his thoughts, nodding and turning to the next slave. And the next. There were otters, squirrels, hares, mice, voles and moles... even vermin were mixed in. There were young. There were old. Male and female. No one beast seemed exempt from the horrors of this place.

Eventually, the line of slaves thinned to only several left. Vera scooped the last of the gruel into the final slave's bowl, then turned to the tureen of mushroom stew she'd set aside at the beginning.

"Stay here," she said, hefting the tureen up. "I'll be right back."

"A-aye..." Tooley muttered.

Soon after Vera was gone, Tooley found himself walking forward. He glanced over at a hare who was slouched against a protrusion of rock. His face was caked with the choking yellow powder, but he slurped at his gruel as if he didn't notice or care.

An image flashed through Tooley's mind. A confident, smiling ferret gazing up in pride at his intricately carved history.

Tooley frowned. Where was that hare on Blade's ceiling of carvings? Or the distant-eyed vole over by the cart half-full of yellow chunks? Or the mouse with bloody, pussy gouges trailing his back?

His eyes fell to the red sash tied at his waist. Rindclaw had given it to him when he started working in the forge. Said it made him a part of the crew. Captain Blade's crew. He finally had a home again.

Tooley felt sick. With trembling paws, he worked the sash free from his waist, tossing it from him like it was poisonous.

 _I ain't like them._

As Tooley watched the sash crumple to the dusty ground, a commotion drew his attention. He looked up to see that a throng of the slaves had gathered around a large shelf of rock that jutted out like a raised platform. He heard shouts, and noticed that a handful of pirates were dragging a scruffy-tailed squirrel to the middle of the platform. The squirrel thrashed about in the pirates' grip, roaring out curses that did nothing but seem to goad the pirates into striking him.

Memories of a conversation in a dark, muddy pit flashed into Tooley's mind, and his eyes widened. He knew that squirrel.

He darted off, boots pounding into the rock below. Numerous other slaves who had already finished their gruel were trudging their way to join the gathering. As Tooley neared, he noticed an otter and wildcat standing a ways away from the slaves.

He recognized the braided whiskers on the otter and scowled. Of course Chak would be here. The wildcat, however, he didn't know. The cat was missing a tail, much like many of the slaves, but he had a whip at his side and a nasty sneer on his face like the other pirates did.

Curious, he slowed his pace and neared the two. Chak was muttering something, gesturing up at the squirrel. Careful not to be seen, Tooley edged along the crowd of slaves until he could hear the wildcat's voice.

"...understand, Chak, mate, but 'e 'ain't yer slave no more. Ye cain't take it personal, an' it be fer the best. A slave what be full o' fight an' defiance ain't worth keepin' 'round, no matter how hard 'e be workin'. He'll turn against ye." The cat patted a paw against Chak's shoulder, then took a step into the circle of beasts. "Best ta break that spirit once an' fer all."

Tooley looked between the two slavedrivers. A coldness he didn't quite understand gripped at his chest.

Something was happening. Something very wrong.

He pushed his way through the crowd, looking over the shoulders of the slaves to follow the wildcat. Several dirty looks were shot his way as he pushed through, but most seemed transfixed on the events in front of them.

As soon as Tooley reached the inner-ring of slaves, he saw the wildcat climb up a set of stair-like stones to the rock platform. Tooley had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the edge of the rocky shelf. The wildcat approached the squirrel slowly, reaching back and drawing a knife from his belt.

"See 'ere, a beast with spirit!" the cat spoke loudly, pointing the knife at the squirrel while his free paw swept over the audience. "Spirit enough t' climb up th' side o' this 'ere mountain an' try ta escape!" He paused, chuckling. "Not sure what 'e was hopin' on findin' up there."

The crowd had hushed to the point where Tooley could hear the squirrel's labored breaths. The wildcat's expression darkened, and he began to pace along the edge of the platform, staring down each slave. His gaze even passed Tooley briefly, and the weasel had to suppress a shiver.

"Would anyone else like ta 'ave a show o' spirit? Come right up an' join yer mate. There's space aplenty fer th' lot o' ye."

The cat fingered the hilt of his knife. No one moved. The cat's lip twitched. He almost seemed disappointed. "Aye, that's right. Ye know somethin' this 'ere squirrel forgot. That spirit ain't naught good but fer sleepless nights an' foolish dreams."

The wildcat's free paw reached into his pocket, and he drew out a small stone. "There be but one thing that's of use t' ye blaggards: _fear._ " Slowly, he began to sharpen his knife on the stone, the shrill grinding echoing across the mine. "Y'see, fear's yer only real friend 'ere. She'll keep ye alive. Give ye strength when ye cain't take another step - 'cause ye know what 'appens if ye don't. Fear'll keep yer eyes open, yer paws movin', an' she'll keep yer tail on ye, if y' pay 'er heed." He turned and took a step towards the squirrel, who squirmed against the grip of his captors. "Pity 'e didn't."

Tooley looked around. Many slaves scowled at the cat, faces twisting with hatred. Some were tearing up and turning to those nearby to comfort them. Others watched with a dull gaze.

And no one was doing anything.

The cat stopped sharpening his blade and positioned himself behind the squirrel. The slave jerked futilely against the paws holding him down, tears streaming from his eyes.

Tooley clenched his fists. This was wrong, but it wasn't good enough to simply _know_ it was wrong. He had to do something.

He took a step forward, then another. His steps turned into a trot as he circled around the edge of the platform. He glanced at the stairway to the platform that seemed so far away.

Several anticipating gasps arose from the crowd. Tooley didn't look up. He was running now, pebbles kicking up from his boots. The racking sobs of the squirrel burned in his head with every step.

There were numerous pirates on the platform, but he could rush them. They'd try to stop him, no doubt, but he wouldn't let them.

He lifted his boot up onto the first step when a paw hooked around his arm and yanked back. Suddenly, he found himself being dragged back through the crowd.

"No!" Tooley shrieked, tugging against the grip. "'E needs 'elp!"

No response came. Tooley watched in horror as the cat and squirrel disappeared under the shoulders of the slaves. As soon as he was clear of the crowd, Tooley felt himself being spun around, and a pair of paws gripped his shoulders firmly.

"What d'ye think yer doin'?" came a growly undertone that Tooley recognized.

He looked up to see Chak staring down at him, face twisted in an impatient sneer. Tooley heard the wildcat say something else, and the squirrel cry out for help, but Chak did nothing. He didn't even look up.

Tooley's chest burned with a sudden fury. He yanked his arm free, then slammed a clenched fist into the otter's jaw.

It was a spongy, grazing hit - Chak hardly flinched - but it was enough.

"Yer perthetic!" Tooley hollered, shoving a palm against the otter's chest. "Y' don' care 'bout anybeast but yerself, do ye?! 'E trusted ye, an' yer jus' watchin'!" Briefly surprised the otter hadn't retaliated yet, Tooley bared his teeth in a snarl, adding, "I _hate_ ye!"

Chak's remaining grip on him tightened, and he drew in a breath. Before he could speak, a sudden screech ripped through the air. The chattering of slaves around them instantly died, and silence was drowned under the sounds of anguish.

Tooley looked over to the rock ledge. The mine suddenly grew very, very cold. Barely over the shoulders of the slaves, Tooley saw the cat raise the knife up. Red droplets flicked off a crimson blade, then it fell once again. There was the sound of flesh tearing, followed by a sickening crack, prompting another scream to course through the mine.

Tooley tried to dart forward into the crowd, but Chak yanked him back.

"Lemme go!" Tooley snapped, turning to face the otter and let loose another volley of snapping insults. They died in his throat before he could even voice them.

Chak had his eyes clenched shut. With every one of the squirrel's screams, he winced, shoulders twitching up. Tooley hadn't noticed until now that the otter's arms were shaking.

Chak drew in a deep, slow breath. He blinked his eyes open, and Tooley could see that they were watering. "Listen 'ere, matey," Chak began, his voice slow, measured, and tinged with barely-restrained anger, "I know ye want ta go up thar an' save 'im. Ta throttle that gates-damned cat with every ounce in ye an' burn this bleedin' 'ole ta the ground. But think. Jus' _think._ "

He pointed up to the ledge. "Ye take a step up onta that ledge an' they'll throw ye right in wi' the rest o' these sad beasts. Reedox'll still be losin' 'is tail, an' ye won't 'ave accomplished anythin'."

The otter's eyes grew distant, and he didn't even seem to be talking to Tooley anymore. "Ye've got jus' _one_ chance... don' waste it. Use yer freedom ta 'elp more 'n jus' one beast."

A final shriek pierced through the air, soon turning into a choking, hoarse keening. There was the racking of a whip, and the crowd began to disperse.

Tooley felt Chak's paw shift so that it rested on his shoulder. He looked up to see that the otter's fierce gaze was focused straight on him. "Find the right moment ta act. Then ye make 'em pay fer what they done."

Tooley blinked at the otter. He tried to hold onto his objections. This was Chak. Daggle's murderer. Back on the island, nothing else had mattered beyond making the otter pay for the wrong he'd done.

But this wasn't the island. Tooley was now in Captain Blade's world. Hellgates itself.

And somehow, here, the otter's words seemed to be the one thing he could hold onto.

Chak let go of Tooley and took a step back. Tooley smelled blood, then turned to see the wildcat stepping down from the platform, a scraggly, severed tail carelessly clutched in one paw. Blood was splattered up along his arm and chest, but he didn't seem bothered by it.

The wildcat approached Chak and placed his free, slightly less-bloodied paw on the otter's shoulder. "Had t' be done, mate."

"Aye... serpose yer right."

The wildcat grinned, giving Chak a reassuring pat before turning and trudging off. As soon as the wildcat was gone, Chak started to turn away.

Tooley hesitated, then spoke up, "I still can't fergive ye..."

The otter paused, turning around with a brow raised curiously.

"Fer Daggle," Tooley continued, and he shook his head softly. "I don' think I ever will..."

Chak was silent, then tilted his head in a nod. "B'ain't askin' ye to."

Before Tooley could say anything else, another voice spoke up, "Chak."

Tooley turned to see Vera approaching them both. She stopped in front of Chak, folding her arms. She gave the otter a smile, though Tooley noticed how tightly she was gripping her arms.

"Aye?" Chak said.

"The drivers' food was brought down with the gruel," she said, motioning over her shoulder. "Torin's eating now-you should grab some before you leave."

Chak's gaze fell and he shook his head. "Nay, not today, Vera."

Before Vera could respond, the otter turned away and began making his way towards the gaping maw of the Dead Rock. The smile fell from the fox's lips, and she glanced up at the rock platform where the now-tailless squirrel was being led down.

"Savages…" she muttered, shivering. Drawing in a breath, she turned back to Tooley. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

* * *

The memory of the sulfur mine remained in Tooley's head long after he left. He tried focusing on his tasks in the kitchen, but found that he couldn't forget the faces of the slaves. There was simply too much pain. Too much to forget.

Day soon faded into evening, and the kitchen masters scurried away to gamble and pass foul drinks and jokes alike. Tooley swished a paw loosely in the dirty water of a grimy pot.

 _"_ _Find the right moment ta act. Then ye make 'em pay fer what they done."_

Tooley frowned at the brown bubbles swirling atop the water. He'd been thinking all day of how he could act. How he could fix everything. So far, he'd drawn a blank.

This was something the captain did, not him. She was smart, and crafty, and cunning, and he… wasn't. She'd know when to act, and how. Tooley… Tooley just knew _why_. Somehow, that didn't seem particularly useful.

"Hey."

Tooley looked up to see Vera beside him, wiping her wet paws across the red sash at her side. Tooley's gaze lingered on the sash for a moment, and the worry that Vera was truly one of Blade's crew crossed his mind.

She placed a damp paw on his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts. "You look tired. Why don't you go ahead and get some rest? I can take care of the rest here."

Then she smiled. She did that a lot, Tooley had noticed, but most of the time it was fake. There was usually some reason behind it—often to get Fishlug to stop throwing things. This one, however, was one of the few honest ones.

"Aye..." Tooley nodded. "Thankee, Miss Vera."

Tooley flicked dirty water from his paws, then slipped his tattered apron over his head and hung it over a hook. He took a step to the kitchen doorway, then glanced back at Vera. She was already scrubbing away at the pot, though her eyes were distant and her shoulders had a noticeable slump.

It seemed like more beasts than just he had things to think about.

He proceeded through the doorway and out into the torchlit tunnels, watching as his boots flicked small pebbles beneath him. Soon, he reached the turn that led up to the crew barracks, then he hesitated. He cast a glance over his shoulder to a passageway that led deeper into the mountain, where screams and pain were buried.

Most of the other pirates were in the mess hall. He'd just helped Vera deliver the dinner cart, after all. Those who had already finished were likely already asleep. The tunnels would be practically empty now. No one would be watching.

Tooley's gaze lingered on the dark tunnel. Down there, he'd found why he had to do something. Maybe he could also find the "how" and "when" he needed.

Furrowing his brow and clenching his fists, he hurried down through the passageways leading deep into the mountain. His heart throbbed with every step, but that only encouraged him to take the next step. The caverns were largely empty, though occasionally Tooley would spot torchlight flickering up one of the tunnels. In these cases, he'd hurry into a darkened hiding spot, then watch as a line of slaves were led up by snarling corsairs. As soon as the caverns grew dark and the cracking of whips faded, he'd rush from his hiding place and continue through the tunnels.

Soon, he stepped into the large cave. Dying torchlight barely lit the massive chamber, but he saw that there were at least a dozen different pathways that splintered out from the cave. He paused, chewed at his lip, then grabbed his hat. He ran a claw over the numerous holes, trying to remember where each tunnel led.

There was a sudden crack of a whip. Tooley's eyes jerked up from his hat. Light was spilling forth from one of the tunnels, and he saw a torch-holding stoat rounding the corner. He didn't have time to look for a decent hiding place. He cast two glances about. There was nothing to his left, and a small pit to his right.

He dove into the pit with a single leap. His shoulder slammed into rock, but he ignored the pain, quickly straightening himself out and pressing himself low to the cold stone. Then, with a measure of horror, he realized that the pit was more of a small cavity than an actual pit, to the point where his shoulder was jutting up.

He clenched his eyes tightly and held his breath. The cavity shook with the pounding of bootsteps not ten feet from him. He risked a glance to see that the light was spilling into his little hiding place. He curled up a leg before the light could catch it, and tried to stop shivering.

Seconds felt like minutes, but soon the light began to fade away, as did the whimpering of slavebeasts. Tooley drew in a long, shuddering breath, and waited several more moments before risking poking his head up.

When he finally did, he saw that the cavern had once more turned dark, save for the dim, flickering light above. He breathed out a long sigh, then pressed a paw up on the lip of the cavity to pull himself up.

He caught sight of movement in the darkness, and froze. Someone else was here.

He hunkered back down in the cavity with just his eyes peering out into the darkness. He saw the beast tiptoe into the cavern. A pair of eyes glimmered in the dark, and then he saw black and white fur marking the beast's face. Tooley failed to stop a gasp from escaping him.

It was her. The captain.

Ciera suddenly darted across the length of the cave, then disappeared down into a tunnel. Tooley blinked, then fumbled with his hat. Shaking paws hovered over the holes before stopping on one, and he looked back up.

That was the way to the harbor. There had been talk in the kitchen about all the activity going on around the harbor, and when he'd wheeled down the gruel pot, he'd seen the hundreds of pirates lugging crates and barrels through the tunnel. Something was happening there - that much was obvious - but the _what_ wasn't clear.

Apparently, however, the captain knew. She always knew these things. She probably knew even more than that.

Flipping his cap back onto his head, Tooley scurried out of his hiding place and ran through the tunnel leading to the harbor.

He would find answers, even if it meant finding them from the captain who had betrayed him.


	67. Overtime

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Overtime**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

The sea otter dared not tarry long after Reedox's punishment, fearing Torin's perceptive eye. Thankfully, it was the end of his shift, and no one would consider the hasty departure unusual. No one liked hanging around the sulfur mine longer than necessary, and if anyone asked about the missed meal, he could say he stopped and grabbed some hardtack from the dining hall.

Part of him was relieved that the wildcat had not killed Reedox outright, but what Torin had done to the slave was almost as bad. Why hadn't Reedox followed Robert's plan? They were supposed to all work together. Even Tooley was smart enough to figure that much out, eventually. Why couldn't Reedox have just waited a little longer?

As he stalked down the cavernous corridor, Chak's mind returned again and again to the gruesome scene. He tried to think of how life would be without his rudder. He probably wouldn't be able to walk at first, and certainly could never swim again. A shudder ran down his spine. No balance, no propulsion, no way to scull his body through the waves. He made for the harbor.

Often Chak used his afternoons to dive, washing the sulfur and sweat from his fur. As on the _Silver Maiden_ , a daily swim kept him in good form both physically and mentally. It was one way he could still feel free, despite the Dead Rock's tight embrace, and if ever there was a time Chak needed an escape, it was today.

Upon his arrival, the otter scanned the docks for Plink. A few times he had run into the rat, though they hardly spoke. She still seemed nervous around him, and always made excuses about having somewhere to go. She was nowhere in sight this time, so he prepared for his exercise, removing his kerchief and his belt with its new cudgel and whip, and making sure his pockets were empty. He found a candied mango and studied it sadly before placing the useless treat atop the stack of belongings. Then he dove into the small, ship-filled bay with a splash.

After swimming several rigorous laps, Chak returned to the dock and shook the saltwater from his fur. He was squeezing moisture from his pants and shirt when something hard pinged off the back of his head. He swore and turned, paw touching the wound reflexively. He hissed, spotting Plink a safe distance away, her fur bristling and shoulders arched. His paw came back with blood on it.

"Damnation, runt – what were that fer?"

Plink looked around to make sure no one else was within hearing range, then made her accusation.

"That's fer what you've done to all those slaves! Yer a bully an' a blaggard!"

Chak scowled. "What makes ye think I be treatin' 'all them slaves' so awful, cully?"

"Beasts don't get to be slave drivers by bein' _nice!_ An' you! Yer just some otter who turned on his own kind!"

Chak frowned. "Yer _kind_ be who yer raised wi', mate. Thar be more pirates than otters in me life. An pirates ain't nice, if ye 'aven't noticed." He rubbed the blood from his paw against his dark breeches. "But I don' agree wi' the way they be treatin' the slaves, if ye mus' know."

The rat turned her scowl back onto him. "Oh, you don't like it but yer fine watchin' Robert get beat up! Don't try an' deny it – I know he's in that stinkin' sulfur mine right now." Her lip curled.

Chak sighed deeply. "Aye, 'e be in the sulfur mine, lassie. But I ain't the only slavedriver up thar – "

"Yer just as bad as them if you let it happen!" Plink was rigid with indignation.

"Oh, aye?" Chak fixed the young rat with a scrutinizing look. "I ain't seen you jumpin' inta the path o' any whips, cully."

Plink's little fists shook at her sides. "If I was big like you, I would. I sure wouldn't let awful things happen to beasts who ain't done nothin' to deserve it!"

Chak blinked. Reedox's screams still echoed in his ears. The otter took a deep, slow breath through his nostrils and shook his head. "T'ain't that simple." He gestured for the rat to come nearer. "Listen cully, an' listen well ta what I be tellin' ye."

The weary sea otter sat down with a grunt, letting his legs hang over the edge of the dock to help put the young rat more at ease. She crept warily forward, then squatted near enough to hear but far enough that he couldn't grab her.

Chak rubbed his knuckles, popping them as he spoke. "Ever' time that ruddy wildcat touches lash er paw ta Robert, I wanna smash 'is bloody face in, ye fath'm?" He met Plink's startled expression with narrowed eyes, his jaw grimly set. "An' today, 'e caught Reedox tryin' ta escape an' decided ta teach 'im a lesson by cuttin' 'is tail off. Ye remember, Scrufftail? That be 'im… though I cain't rightly call 'im _that_ no more. 'Bout killed that slavedriver whar 'e stood, but I 'eld back. Jus' like I be 'oldin' back wi' Robert. Ye know why?"

Plink's glare had returned, but she shook her head slowly.

"'Cause it don' matter 'ow big I be, cully. Once I make a move agains' those in charge 'round 'ere, that be it. No second chances. An' it be Robert who be tellin' me this." Chak held up a finger. "Whar I stand now, I be 'avin' the keys ta the slave cells, authority ta get other pirates ta listen ta me ruther 'n attack me on sight, an' most o' all – access ta weapons. So ye see, I cain throw all that away tryin' ta 'elp one slave one day," he paused, letting the thought sink in, "er I cain 'old back an' wait fer the right moment when I cain 'elp Robert free every slave all at once."

He watched for a moment as Plink scowled at the water, chewing on his words. Finally, she looked back at him, a little wide-eyed. "You... yer plannin' to leave with 'em."

Chak rumbled assent. "Ain't no place fer me 'ere, li'l mate. I've a lot o' wrongs ta try an' right, an' that ain't summat pirates be known fer. That be the sort o' thing only beasts like Robert care 'bout. Beasts who hurt when they see others hurtin' an' want ter stop murderin' villains like Torin an' Blade… " He glanced at Plink, then back at his folded paws, "an' me." He nodded his head. "Good beasts, like you."

Plink was tugging at her shirt, shaking her head. "I ain't – "

"Ahoy!" A stoat appeared at the far end of the dock, making his way purposefully toward them. Plink leapt nervously to her feet.

"Mister Ku'Rill, sir," the stoat addressed the sea otter respectfully. "I've some bad news ta report."

Chak felt his heart drop, thinking of Reedox and Robert, but then rose calmly. Nobeast here would think a slave's death worth such a report.

"What be the problem, mate?"

"It be Mister Torin, sir. He be taken sick all a'sudden. Ain't in no shape ta oversee. Yer gonna 'ave ta return an' fill in fer 'im."

Chak cursed. A double shift. Today, of all days.

"A'right, I'm right be'ind ye." He gave Plink a meaningful look, then went to gather his things. He plucked the small sweet from atop his kerchief and turned, offering the candied fruit to the rat.

"'Ere. Ye'll appreciate this more 'n I would."

Plink snatched the treat from his palm, then watched him depart, his shoulders sagging.

* * *

Back at the mine again, Chak tied his kerchief over his muzzle once more. The slaves were astir with the news that Torin was down. Some even dared laugh. Sure Chak was there, but they all knew he was a soft touch by comparison. It irked the otter, but it was true. His heart just wasn't in the game.

At least this way Reedox would get a break. Chak spotted Robert helping the squirrel along as he had the gimpy hare. All the slaves seemed to sympathize with the newly tailless beast, and Chak even spotted a few adding sulfur to his baskets. He wondered if he could get away with sending Reedox back to the slave quarters as they had Robert's Waverunner friend.

Unfortunately the squirrel wasn't the only one taking it easy. The slaves always seemed slower in the mornings when Chak was in charge, but now they were positively listless. Chak swore under his breath.

"Move yer hides, ye scurvy sluggards!" Chak cracked his whip, but to little avail. The slaves within reach picked up their pace, but in the mine itself, they dawdled and dallied. Chak had never dealt out a thrashing let alone a branding since he started, and this seemed to weaken his authority.

After an hour the second wagon came down to replace the first only to find that the first was still not filled. The rats pulling the wagon grumbled at first, but then seemed to appreciate the break as much as the slaves. They made bets on which miner would be first to bring their baskets up, helped themselves to the water barrel, and scrubbed wet paws under their armpits to cool off. After another half hour, however, a burly ferret stormed into view. The rats had just started to pull out with the first load, which was finally ready. They conversed with the ferret, shaking their heads and gesturing back at Chak and the empty wagon.

 _"_ _Damn them all,"_ thought the otter darkly. He didn't need the ferret to tell him they were appallingly behind in their productivity, but the foreman was eager to let him know just what an abysmal slave driver he was all the same.

"I don' know who put you in charge, otter, but yer fallin' way behind schedule. Blade 'spects a certain amount o' professionalism 'round 'ere an from the look o' things, yer no pro."

Chak growled, "Arrrr… We all seem ta be a bit outta sync at the mo' since Torin be takin' sick. We'll get 'em back on track 'ere soon enough, though – ye cain bet yer scabby 'ide." He gave his whip an expert crack and snarled at the slaves making their way up the incline.

"You'd better. I don' wanna 'ave ta come back down 'ere again, greenie."

Chak clenched his teeth at the insult, but only nodded, waving the ferret off. After he left Chak stormed back toward the mine. He would have to make an example out of someone. It was the only way.

He spotted a mouse actually sitting down on one of his overturned baskets near mouth of the mine, talking casually with another beast. Outraged, Chak made a beeline for the indolent slave. The mouse saw him coming and leapt to his footpaws with a squeak, grabbing up his baskets and heading deeper into the mine. Chak pursued him with a vengeance until he rounded a corner and found the mouse at a dead end.

"Ye rotten li'l-" Chak's words were cut off abruptly when a wooden pole was pulled tight across his throat from behind. Chak stepped quickly back, gaining a few whisps of air before slamming into the rock wall behind him. The sea otter tried throwing the beast with brute force, but his attacker was a beast of equal build. Two strong dark paws clenched the pole tightly against Chak's windpipe, determined to halt the slave driver's whip once and for all. Chak pulled at the pole but couldn't seem to find the leverage he needed. Spots flashed across his eyes and he gasped for air, slamming his assailant again and again against the wall until he was turned to face the other direction. Chak's efforts weakened as he started to fade, and he noticed a squirrel watching him from a short distance away.

It was Reedox, watching him suffer, as he had stood back and watched the squirrel suffer. Strangely fitting.

Something hit them with a jolt and suddenly air rushed into the otter's lungs as the pole loosened. Chak ripped the wooden shaft away with all his might and turned to face the pine marten, gasping, and very much alive. Robert stood behind the marten with a pole of his own.

"Leave _off_ him, I said!" The hedgehog threatened the marten.

"You idiot! I _had_ him!" the pine marten roared, a mixture of both fear and anger in his eyes as Chak recovered his strength before him, armed now not only with the pole, but also his whip and cudgel.

Chak charged his would-be assassin angrily, discarding the pole in favor of his club. The pine marten tried to fight back, but was quickly beaten down to a cowering lump.

"Ye wanna piece o' me, slave scum?" Chak shouted, bruising the marten across the back. "Ye think ye cain take me down now?" He thumped him again and spat. "Yellow-bellied bastard son of a bawd!"

"Chak!" Robert tried to pry Chak away from the slave, but Chak shoved him back.

"No! All day these miscreants be takin' advantage o' me leniency, slackin' off an' sittin' down on the job, makin' me look like a bunglin' arse! An' now this low-life scoundrel be tryin' ta _murder_ me! I tell ye, I've 'ad enough an' someone's got ter be made an example 'round 'ere!"

Three brands marked the marten's terrified face and desperation filled his voice as he pled. "Please – no – I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me! You – you don't know what it's like! Please – I'll do anything! Don't – please – please don't take my eye!"

Chak paused, cudgel raised for another blow. The marten actually believed he was going to drag him up to the fire pit and burn his eye out with a hot poker like Torin would. Chak exchanged a look with Robert, who shook his head, then he lowered his club, still breathing hard.

It was an impossible situation. How could he possibly be a protector _and_ a slave driver? Especially when the slaves were trying to kill him.

"Look," Robert reasoned, "there're other ways to go about this, mate."

"I weren't gonna _burn 'is eye out_ , Robert." Chak glared at the hedgehog, disappointed that he could think him capable of such atrocities.

"I know, I know," Robert tried to reassure him. "But I don't think you have to beat him bloody either."

"They don' respect me, Rob. I cain't e'en begin ta pretend I be in charge 'round 'ere if nobeast does what I ask."

"Aye, I understand, friend. But what I'm sayin', is maybe I can rally the Waverunners and we can pick up the slack – make you look better."

Chak seemed to relax some at this new suggestion.

"And Hylan here be somewhat of a leader himself." Robert gestured at the bewildered pine marten. "Maybe he could convince the others to play along too, now that he knows you're on our side."

Chak scowled at the marten, unwilling to forgive the assault so soon.

Hylan glared back and forth between the slave driver and slave, who were treating each with unconventional familiarity. "Why should I trust either of you?"

Robert reached a paw forward, as though to reassure the marten, though Hylan took a step back. "Chak an' I fought together afore we were captured by the mongoose tribe and sent here. He used ta be a pirate slave driver, but he's…reformed. Wants ta do somethin' else with his life. Ain't that right, mate?" He nodded at the sea otter.

Chak shrugged. "Summat like that. Certainly don' want ter be trapped 'ere the rest o' me life, ye cain bet on that." He swore again, wheezing through his kerchief. "Vulpuz, this air be killin' us all…" He snorted and spat sulfur-tainted mucus.

Hylan did not look convinced. He crouched before Chak, as though ready for the beating to recommence at any moment.

Chak switched gears now that things seemed under control again. "Been thinkin'," he addressed the hedgehog, "d'ye think it'd be safe ta send Reedox back ta the cells? I fear what Torin might do if 'e be comin' back afore the end, but 'e could use a break."

Robert nodded. "Aye, he certainly could. He be hurtin' pretty bad. D'ye have any idea how sick Torin might be?"

Chak shook his head. "No tellin', mate. Let's at'least get 'im outta the crater an' this bad air. We cain 'ave 'im lay down be'ind the wall wi' a full load o' sulfur nearby what 'e cain pick up if Torin be showin' is ugly mug again."

"Good plan." Robert cast a glance toward the spot where the squirrel had been standing earlier.

"Arrr. An' speakin' o' plans, 'ave ye 'eard anythin' more from Crue?" Chak pressed. "The sooner we get Reedox outta 'ere, the better, me thinks."

"You told him about the plan?" Hylan shot a glare at Robert.

The hedgehog sighed. "He's been part o' the plan since the beginnin' mate. I told you, he's on our side. So it's probably in your best interest not to try to kill him anymore." Robert scratched his chin, then turned to Chak, "And it's probably in your best interest not to beat the livin' daylights outta Hylan, Chak, as he be our connection."

An awkward moment passed between all three beasts, then Chak shoved his cudgel back into his belt.

"If Torin don' believe I be 'andlin' the slaves well, 'e'll ne'er give me the space we need. I need 'im ta trust me enough ta stop babysittin'."

Hylan nodded, seeming to grasp the advantages of having a sympathetic slave driver on their side. "So what you're saying is, you need us to act like we're afraid, even though you're not actually going to do anything to us, right?"

Chak grinned behind his kerchief, sensing the personal inquest of the last line. "Gotta keep up the act in front o' Torin, mind, but aye. S'long as yer workin' 'ard thar won' be no need fer further violence." Chak tightened the knot at the back of his head and cleared his throat. "Jus' keep yer 'eads down 'round that tail-obsessed cat."

"Oh, yeah, I know all about that." Hylan muttered darkly. The marten limped alongside the hedgehog and otter toward the entrance to the mine. "I'll see what I can do about getting the other slaves to speed up." Chak nodded and clapped him on the back, causing the marten to wince.

"Grand. If we cain work out a system afore the end o' the day, mayhaps Torin'll see fit ta leave me in charge more of'n. This place be Hell enough wi'out that devil."

* * *

As Chak had feared, Torin reappeared before the end of the day, though he seemed drained and weakened. Reedox had to re-enter the mine, but the second shift was near its end so he would not have to make very many trips.

"Chak, mate… what'd ye do?" Torin gaped at the slaves who practically ran up to the wagon with their loads. They bowed and cowed around the otter, then hurried away in apparent fear. It was quite a show. How Hylan and Robert had motivated such willingness out of all the slaves was beyond the sea otter, but it seemed to do the trick. Torin was impressed.

"Found a way ta inspire fear in 'em, as ye suggested."

"Ah! Trade secret? Or do ye think ye can let me in on yer…method?" The hungry glint in the wildcat's eyes as he watched the cringing slaves gave Chak pause, then he grunted and smirked.

"An old otter trick what be used ta coax information outta our enemies. Mayhaps I'll show ye one day."

Torin seemed pleased at the idea. "Well, me bucko, seems I didn' have ta come down here after all. Glad ta see ye've finally pulled a page outta my book an' started settlin' inta yer own." He put a proud paw to the otter's shoulder. "After we put the wretches down fer the night, what do ye say ta joinin' me fer a drink in me quarters?"

"If yer up fer it…" Chak raised an eyebrow. "Ye still look a mite shaky. Sure yer alright?"

Torin's lip lifted ever so slightly. "Don' worry 'bout me. Nothin' keeps me down long. I'm sorry ye had ta fill in as long as ye did."

Once the slaves were safely locked up in their lice-infested cells, the two slave drivers made their way to Torin's quarters. Chak was blasted with the smell of decay and death upon entering, but politely refrained from gagging. The wildcat's living area was more spacious than Chak's, and even had a dividing curtain across one wall where there was evidently more. Chak was about to ask about it when the wildcat offered him a tankard of cool grog. The otter sat on a cushy, upholstered chair with claw punctures in the armrests, and was joined shortly by the wildcat, who lounged in an adjacent chair with a small tea cup in one paw.

"Ain't gonna drink wi' me, mate?"

Torin shook his head, "Still don' 'ave much o' a stomach, I'm afraid."

"Ah, that kind o' sick." Chak nodded sympathetically. "'Appens ta us all, every now an' then."

"Aye, I thought it were the soup, but the cook said the same batch went out ta everyone an' no one else got sick." Torin frowned. "Still, don' think I'll be able ta stomach mushroom stew again after this." His lip curled at the thought.

Chak nodded. "Unnerstandable." He took a swig of the grog, but the air seemed to make even the grog taste foul. Chak wished he was still wearing his kerchief. He cleared his throat. "So, yer quarters be a bit more expansive than I be seein' elsewhar."

"Aye," Torin agreed with a note of pride. "One o' the perks o' gettin' in wi' Blade. Though t'ain't much compared ta the cap'ns," he scowled. "Cap'ns get all the best."

"Ye wish ye were a cap'n then?" Chak tried another sip. It was still bad.

"I _was_ a cap'n." Torin replied bitterly. "'Til that Izhets wench stole my ship. A beauty she may be, but wi' a heart black as coal."

"Izhets?" Chak sputtered the name.

"Well…she be goin' by 'Burnet' now. Bit of an inside joke." He chuckled. "She an' I used ta be together, ye know."

"Had no idea." Chak answered in all honesty. Could this captain be the sister Vasily had been searching for? The way she had manipulated Torin sounded about right. Chak wondered whatever happened to his nervous friend. He thought it unlikely the cat had made it out of the sea battle alive, but then again, Vasily had survived a lot of ill fortune. Unless, of course, all of his stories had been lies. Which was possible.

"Aye. A pretty flower with sharp thorns. I think mayhaps she jus' didn' want tailless kittens." Torin had a faraway look in his eyes. Obviously he did not hate this Captain Burnet as much as he originally implied. He sniffed abruptly and polished off his tea before setting the delicate cup down with a clatter. "Most o' that older batch o' slaves be from her husband's plantation, ye know."

"Ah." Chak nodded. That would be the batch that were dying off. Sometimes Chak would talk to the dying slaves, asking about their names and the families they had left behind. He never got much out of them, as they could barely breathe, but what they did manage to pass on was more than he had ever learned of his own slaves aboard _The Silver Maiden_. He wondered sometimes if Reedox might know more about the others, though he was fairly certain the squirrel would never tell him.

"Her husband Vasily be one o' me earliest trophies."

Chak was jerked abruptly from his thoughts. "Pardon?"

"In my collection. That be 'round the time I were perfectin' the art o' preservation."

"Yer collection?" Chak muttered, feeling apprehensive.

"Aye! Been wantin' ta show ye!" The wildcat rose to his feet and strolled over to the wall with the curtain. He drew back the draped cloth, and Chak nearly dropped his tankard. "Weren't many opportunities ta collect afore I became a slavemaster."

The wall was covered in animal tails: a fluffy fox's, a tawny twisting cat's, a bushy squirrel's, several thin shriveled mice tails, a short, black-tipped weasel tail, several puffs of hare tails, and even a large dark tail Chak could swear once belonged to a certain pine marten.

"Criminy." Chak could not help the look of shock and surprise on his face. "Ye _keep_ 'em?"

"Aye!" Torin sounded excited to explain. "Y'see we all know leather keeps, aye? Shark hide, snake skin, I e'en saw a pair o' rabbit-skin gloves once."

Chak nodded dumbly.

"What don' keep is the meat. That only lasts so long afore it becomes putrid an' rotten." Torin walked over to the corner where a familiar scruffy tail dangled over a bowl of shallow blood.

Chak set his tankard down, not trusting himself to keep it steady.

"Ye remember this one. Not the prettiest sample, but I be pridin' meself on variety." He prodded the limp appendage. "Me thinks that be 'bout as drained as it's gonna get. Lemmee show ye how it's done."

Chak felt his stomach churn as the wildcat unpinned Reedox's tail from the clothesline, slapping it irreverently onto a broad wooden table. He picked up a knife and gestured with it, like a chef explaining how to prepare a casserole.

"It's actually quite simple. Ye just have to remove the meat." He cut a gash down the length of the tail and slowly worked the insides out. Chak felt a lurch as he recognized bone. _Reedox was missing part of his gates-damned spine_.

Somehow Chak held it together through the process as Torin scraped and then salted the squirrel's skin, washing his bloodied paws at last in a bowl of water.

"Vury impressive." Chak nodded at the end once Torin had cleaned up and returned to his seat. "It be a remarkable collection, mate." The otter stood.

"Oh, air ye goin' a'ready, mate?"

Chak sighed and nodded, reaching out to shake the cat's still-moist paw. "Aye. Been a long day, as ye know."

"Ah! Right, right. O' course." The wildcat nodded. "Glad ye could drop by. We'll 'ave ta talk more about yer method later on!"

Chak smiled and nodded, exiting the cat's abode. "Aye!" He waved a friendly paw goodnight before rounding the corner and heaving until his eyes ran and nothing remained in his stomach.


	68. Enlightenment

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Enlightenment**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

Three small fishing rafts sat atop the sand. They had been constructed from two logs that had wooden slats running between them to act as seats and the ends carefully tied so that the pieces remained in place. As Dekeft dragged a boat toward the water, Crue followed up behind them with a long palm branch, wiping away as much evidence of their movements as she could and trusting the wind and waves to take care of the rest. Dekeft had Crue sit in the front as he pushed the boat out into the ocean, jumping on as soon as it drifted far enough out. Once beyond the reach of the tidal waves they headed north.

Crue's fur was soon slicked with sweat as they rowed along the side of the island. The land to their left rose steadily, sandy beach turning into rocky cliffs. After a half-hour, Crue looked up and saw the rope bridge swaying between the mongoose village and the sacrificial grounds at the base of the mountain. Tall rocky spires jutted out of the water below the bridge, forcing the two to row further from the cliffside.

They took a few breaks for Crue's sake, her paws and arms aching. As they sat, Crue wished that Dekeft would engage her in conversation, but he appeared too lost in his own thoughts and she couldn't think of a way to draw him out. Instead, she stared out at the waves, enjoying the freshness of the salt air. The irony was not lost on her in that this was the first boat she'd worked on where the crew was as honorable as she'd always hoped for.

About two hours later, Dekeft spoke up, "T'ere it ees. T'e hole in t'e mountain."

Crue squinted as she scanned the cliffside. Eventually she saw the place where the mountain opened up to the sea. "I see it."

With their objective in sight, Crue found a small reserve of energy and together they headed in. She was so focused on rowing and making it to their destination that she was startled when Dekeft suddenly exclaimed, " _Ayah!_ "

Crue's head snapped up, and looking ahead she saw hull after hull after hull lit up in the moonlight. The further they rowed, the more Crue saw that this wasn't a simple opening in the mountain or the home for the "floating den." This was a harbor, and the "teeny bridge" that Dekeft had mentioned earlier had become a series of docks at which rested a number of corsair vessels. Surprisingly, no beasts were around to guard them. Closest to them, facing the open ocean sat a vessel whose mast was fitted with black sails, and whose black hull matched the dark water beneath it.

"There it is," Crue murmured. Her mind was drawn back to that night where she had nearly been killed - the deafening boom, the feeling of being thrown across the deck, falling over the side, and nearly being drowned by her own bag. She whispered to herself, "I still miss that bag."

"Vat?" Dekeft asked as they continued rowing.

"It's nothing."

The further they traveled into the harbor, the more slowly they moved, careful that their movements made as little noise as possible. It took twenty minutes to cross the water, but eventually they arrived next to the Ghost Ship, where Dekeft steered their small craft underneath the dock and tied it in place. He steadied the raft while Crue climbed up, and she then proceeded to see if any beasts had shown up. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she waved Dekeft up and the two of them headed toward the gangplank at the bow of the ship.

"T'is is t'e den ef te Fiyah Gott!" Dekeft whispered loudly, his eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

Crue's eyes traveled up the black ship, its timbers defying the moonlight that sought to illuminate them. Its name, _Phantom_ , lay on a cracked and rusted frame, a forgotten name for a ship as lost as the rest of piracy. In the quiet harbor, hardly a timber creaked, causing Crue's steps to once again sound thunderous in her ears. As Dekeft ran ahead up the gangplank, Crue wished he'd walk a touch more softly.

Once aboard, Crue wondered why Blade would leave his prize unguarded. No beast's head turned toward their approach; neither did a door open or a hatch rise to acknowledge their presence on the ghost ship. She believed in ghosts as much as she believed in a Fire God, but she couldn't stop the fur on the back of her neck from standing up in the eerie quiet.

 _Blade must either trust his men more than I thought possible, or there's something keeping them off of the ship._

She stepped lightly across the deck until she stood next to one of the masts. Her eyes followed Dekeft while he let a paw drift across the railing as if assessing the validity of its existence. He bent down to touch the deck, the wood gleaming in stark contrast to the hull, before he stepped over to a set of steep stairs that led to the forecastle deck. Another staircase led down toward a door carved with what seemed like large bones, but when Crue drew closer, she didn't recognize their strange shape. The objects were cylindrical, with raised bumps at each end, and next to each one was the carving of a beast holding a stick toward it.

"Psst!" she called to Dekeft. Once she had his attention she pointed toward the door and the two of them stepped toward it.

Crue stepped down the stairs and reached for the silver handle. It turned smoothly in her paw, and not a creak came from the hinges as she pushed the door open. The lower deck was as dark as midnight on a moonless night and she looked around about for a candle. She didn't see any at first, but to her right a row of hooks held a dozen metal objects that resembled lanterns, only missing the glass that would allow light to shine through. She walked further into the room and pulled one off of its hook. Holding it by the ring, she tugged on the rope attached to the bottom.

The metal made a scratching sound as a panel slid down the lantern and a burst of blue light filled the exposed space. "Ahh!" she shrieked, dropping the whole thing. It clanged when it hit the deck and she reached out her paws to shush it. Certain that every beast in the mountain heard the noise, she turned to Dekeft and whispered, "Shut the door!"

He complied and as the room grew dark once more, she reached down to where the lantern had fallen, feeling around until her paws contacted metal. She carefully felt for the ring at the top and held it up once again. She turned her face away to avoid being burned too badly and pulled the rope again.

A small spark lit the center, but nothing happened. When she released the rope, she could hear the metal move back into place. She pulled once more, but the lantern was dead. Crue stepped toward the wall where the lanterns hung and took another one down, putting the spent lantern in its place. Now knowing what to expect, she closed her eyes and pulled on the rope.

Even with her eyes shut she saw a flash of white. When she opened her eyes, she could see a substance burning in the center, providing just enough light to see the area immediately around her. A post stood a couple of feet away with several hooks waiting to hold the now-lit lantern. She was able to tie the rope in place and then she grabbed two fresh lanterns. Handing one to Dekeft, they made their way further into the ship.

"I wonder what those could be," Crue mused as she came across a couple of large metal cylinders on wooden carts. It didn't take long for her to recognize that they were the objects that had been carved on the door. Nearby sat a couple of small barrels and a wooden crate with a dozen iron spheres inside, each about as large as a coconut. She pulled the lid off of one of the barrels, revealing a dark powder inside. Unable to see the substance clearly, she leaned in close and set about lighting her spare lantern.

Dekeft's claws latched on to her arm, keeping her from pulling the cord. He shook his head in warning and stated, "T'is ees fiyah powah."

Crue squinted, trying to see what he saw. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Boom."

"Ooh!" Crue's eyes widened as she made the connection and her paw moved the lantern away from the barrel. "Boom."

"Shuga has t'is for sacrifice, but Fiyah Gott no give heem es mush es t'is!"

"Blade," Crue revealed. "Your god's name is Captain Blade, and he's no more a god than you or I." Crue touched a claw to the black powder in the barrel and wondered how it would go boom. She then recalled that one of the substances the slaves were mining was sulfur, which didn't mix well with fire. "I'm guessing he has much, much more!"

"How you know t'is?"

"He turned my friends into slaves."

"'Slaves'?" Dekeft repeated.

"He forces them to work for him, to… find the things in the mountain that make this powder."

Before Crue could get on with telling him more about what a slave was, Dekeft exclaimed, "T'e Fiyah Gott hef ot'ers get fiyah from mountain? He no make himself?" Dekeft scoffed. "Lazy gott."

She stood still and wondered how Dekeft had come to focus on the "fire power" than her imprisoned comrades. He took that time to take another lantern off of the wall and tell her, "I look at den more, Crue. You go up and watch."

Dekeft left her standing there, assuming she'd do just that. She paused long enough to see him push open a window to the the side of the ship before she sighed sadly and headed above-deck to keep a look-out. She was surprised that no one had come already after the ruckus she made minutes before.

Closing the door behind her, Crue stayed low. She thought she heard voices a ways off in the distance, but that could have been the breeze playing with the sails on another ship. Still in the stairway, she looked up and saw more of the lanterns hanging above her all along the masts. She couldn't help but admire Blade's ingenious inventions.

A voice quietly called down, interrupting her ruminations. "You don't actually think Blade came up with this all on his own, do you?"

Crue's head snapped up to stare at the ferret lounging on the forecastle deck. The healer may have found the nonchalant posture disarming with another beast, but her eyes were drawn to the elaborate longcoat and its embellishments. A brief flash of panic crossed over her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to do anything before the captain called for someone to take the trespassers into custody. Crue forced herself to remain calm. Perhaps Dekeft was still close enough to hear her if she called.

Then again, the ferret hadn't immediately turned them in. Perhaps Crue could keep her talking long enough to glean some information about what was going on. Keeping her expression neutral, she admitted, "It would take a great mind to develop lanterns such as these, not to mention the means to destroy another ship from a hundred yards away! It's one thing to hear the story of a ghost ship, but quite another to make one."

The pirate looked up, the moonlight illuminating the soft gray and white fur on her face. "And what does he use it for? Light shows and mass murder… A true visionary."

Crue took a closer look at the ferretmaid's face, sure she recognized her from somewhere, but she couldn't quite put her claw on it. "Does your captain know you think so highly of him?"

She turned her head and stared at Crue, clearly unamused. "Not as highly as _you_ seem to." As Crue's expression darkened in anger, the ferret stood and stepped lightly down the stairs, trying to avoid being heard by the mongoose wandering somewhere on the ship.

"Now," she continued as she stood between Crue and the gangplank, "what is your business aboard this ship? Sabotage? Espionage?"

Crue took a moment to wonder, _Why the sudden interest in conversation? It would be much easier to call a guard over._ Carefully weighing how much truth to share, she answered, "Enlightenment, actually."

The captain's eyes lifted in amusement. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. So are you or your mongoose friend there the one being enlightened?"

"In all honesty, both of us." Changing the subject, she asked, "Did you pull the short straw and get stuck with guard duty tonight?"

She paused before answering, "Yes and no. I happened to be in the area and wanted to find out what you were up to before I called the guards."

Crue looked down at the captain's sheathed cutlass and swallowed, knowing that any moment now their conversation could end in either her capture or her untimely demise. "Well," she offered, "if you must know, I was wondering how this ship managed to tear apart the scow I ended up on about three weeks ago."

The ferretmaid scowled but kept her voice low as she declared, "The _Silver Maiden_ was a no scow!"

Surprised by the sudden outburst, Crue took a closer look at the pirate captain and realized why she looked so familiar. "Oh, _that_ captain!"

"Excuse me?"

"You were the captain of that ship!" Crue thought back to the last time she'd seen the ferretmaid, on that fateful day when the Fire God had shown his face. She recalled the affection that Blade had shown toward his fellow captain, how he had released her associates, and how she had callously turned away from the one member of her crew with any shred of decency in him. Crue wished she could remember her name. "Captain… Bogle, is it?"

"Captain Ciera Ancora!" she replied proudly, obviously offended that Crue could have guessed so poorly.

Crue held back a number of questions she wanted to ask. She wanted to learn more about the _Phantom_ , but realized she would have to ask her questions carefully. "So, which ship did Blade give you to replace the one he destroyed?"

One of the ferretmaid's eyes twitched slightly. "I haven't decided yet."

 _Two weeks and she still doesn't have a ship?_ "He's giving you your choice?"

"I'm weighing my options. I find the best time to evaluate a ship when it's quiet, when beasts aren't breathing down your neck and trying to sway you one way or another. It's not a decision to be taken lightly."

"And you're now evaluating Blade's flagship?"

Ciera shrugged. "Who said this was still his flagship?"

"It's not?" _That would explain the lack of guards aboard,_ she noted. Something must have changed in the last two weeks if what Ciera said was to be believed. "Why would he abandon this ship now? It seems like it's served him well for the last ten seasons."

"You know how boys are with their toys. They find something new and shiny and suddenly their old toy is useless and boring and they throw it to the side."

Crue's brow furled as she pondered what the ferretmaid told her. If he had a new flagship, it would most certainly not be left unattended. Given that she hadn't seen a guard on _any_ of the ships in the harbor, then Blade's new toy must not be in the harbor. _Why not? Why would it be out at this hour? And why would he abandon the_ Phantom _... unless this new ship had fire power, too?_

A question from the ferretmaid broke through her thoughts. "Now, how long do you think you and your mongoose friend will last when the guards come by and find us chatting?"

Crue's eyes snapped up and she wondered what prompted that question. She didn't hear a patrol coming and she knew there weren't guards aboard the ships. Ciera had hinted at the possibility of turning them in, and yet she hadn't shown any inclination toward doing so. Crue guessed that Ciera didn't _actually_ have a ship here, so why was the captain slinking around in the dark? What secrets was she hiding?

Perhaps if she could maintain the upper-hand in their conversation, she could find out. She opted to turn the captain's words back on her. "What's to stop me from calling the guards myself and telling them you're stealing this ship?" She watched Ciera's eyes widen at the bluff and then narrow dangerously.

Before Crue knew what was happening, Ciera drew her cutlass and placed the tip of the blade mere inches from the healer's neck. Crue backed away a step, startled by the captain's overreaction. Through gritted teeth Ciera hissed, "That would be a stupid thing to do!"

 _I have obviously touched a nerve,_ Crue mused after seeing Ciera's reaction. "You can't afford to lose their trust, can you?"

Crue could almost hear Ciera's knuckles tighten on the hilt as the pirate contemplated her next move. She opened her mouth to speak, but before any words came out, a blur of light brown fur slammed into the captain and tackled her to the ground. The cutlass flew out of her paw and clattered to the deck far out of reach. For a fraction of a moment Crue was upset that someone had interrupted them just when she was getting some answers, but it didn't take her long to recognize her friend.

"Run, Crue!" Tooley shouted. "Run!"

"Get… off… me!" Ciera clamored as she rammed an elbow into Tooley's side.

The weasel held on and Crue cried out, "Don't hurt him!" Tooley was no match for the battle-hardened captain and Crue moved forward to try and pull the two apart. She barely heard the door open behind her before Dekeft grabbed Crue's arm and dragged her back inside the ship.

With the door closed, Crue once more found herself in the dark. Dekeft didn't stop and Crue found herself pulled further into the lower deck. He stopped after about twenty feet and Crue's eyes were briefly assaulted by a bright flash before adjusting to the dim, blue light of a lantern that the mongoose had opened. Crue tugged on the paw that held her and pointed back toward the door through which her friend fought. Her eyes pleaded with him to go back, although she had no idea how they could help him now.

Dekeft frowned and shook his head. Still holding the rope of the lantern, he signified that he would be turning off the light and they would go further into the ship. Crue sighed with resignation and took a look to see what obstacles she would need to avoid in the dark. The lower deck stretched toward the far side of the ship and was surprisingly bare. She saw the two cylinders that she had noticed before, but given the number of windows she could see along the side of the ship, there should have been more.

She was still thinking when the light went out. She could hear a shouting match taking place between Tooley and Ciera, but their voices grew even more faint as Dekeft pulled her slowly along toward the stern. Eventually, Crue heard his paw tap the side of the ship, and he quietly tapped until one of the windows opened a crack. They stood there, waiting for the silence that would let them know it was safe to leave.

The scuffle of boots and a cacophony of voices hit her ears, Tooley's shrieks among them. Crue bit her tongue to keep from calling out to him and she clung to Dekeft's arm. Eventually, the noise subsided, retreating into the mountain. Crue sobbed, her tears flowing onto Dekeft's arm as she realized what fate would befall her friend. Tooley wouldn't be made a slave. For this, the poor fool, her friend would die. He would die and it would be her fault for having the audacity to have come here.

No, it wasn't her fault, but she hated that she was partly the reason that Blade would claim the life of another one the few people on this island who had truly shown her kindness, who had made her smile, who had made her feel appreciated. If Tooley was going to be killed, it was up to her to see that those who killed him were punished for their crimes. It was more important than ever that she get the mongooses to not only see Blade for who he was, but to help her stop him.

When the clamor had subsided and all that was left was the sound of the water hitting the ship, Dekeft opened the window further and pointed at the opening. Crue nodded and stepped backward through the window, holding onto Dekeft's paws as he lowered as far as he could toward the water before letting her go. Dekeft followed, his entry making a small splash that would be hard to distinguish from the crashing of a large wave. Together they swam slowly toward the dock and toward their raft.

Just as Dekeft was helping Crue out of the water, she heard a pair of boots move above them. Both she and Dekeft tensed, wondering if they'd been spotted. Once the boots reached the end of the dock, Ciera's voice spoke calmly above them. "The coast is clear." The captain sighed before adding, "That weasel sure picked a bad time to grow a spine."

Crue growled at the callous remark. " _That weasel_ may not be the bravest beast, or the smartest, but at least he cared about someone other than himself."

Several seconds of silence passed. "I once had someone I cared about… but that is no longer a luxury I can afford."

 _What does that mean?_ Crue wondered how caring for someone was a luxury, as if compassion was a coin that could be traded away.

"You should leave now before another patrol comes by." Ciera's voice was flat, betraying none of her feelings. Crue wished she could see her face.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked.

Ciera sighed. "Something necessary."

As the sound of the captain's boots signaled her departure, Dekeft held out an oar to Crue. With a heavy heart, she took the oar and sat down. She put it in the water and half-heartedly pulled.

 _Crue, Crue, Missus Crue  
Twist yer oar a liddle more…_

An image of her first meeting with Tooley sprang to mind and as much as she fought against them, small sobs still managed to work their way out. She put her anger and sorrow toward rowing, knowing that the sooner they returned to the village, the sooner they could make plans to storm the mountain.

* * *

Stiff from journey, Crue stood up and walked onto the beach while Dekeft pulled the raft out of the water. Once both of them were safely on land, they sat down to rest before returning to the village.

"Dekeft?"

"Yes, Crue?"

"My friends are still in that mountain."

Dekeft nodded. "Your… friend will be kill't by Fiyah Gott."

Crue didn't want to think about that anymore. "Tooley isn't the only one he will kill. I have other friends that are still there." She looked the mongoose in the eye. "I can't save them alone. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I need your people to help me stop Blade and get them out of the mountain."

Dekeft's expression remained neutral as he stared at her, betraying none of what he thought of her statement. When he did not speak, she continued, "He's kept you happy and impressed by his so-called magic, but he would enslave you… make you work for him if he thought he could get away with it. My friends are dying while Blade and his men grow stronger! You and your people are the only ones strong enough to stand against him!"

Dekeft sighed. "You haf shown me mush today, Crue, but I bringuh beck not'ing to show tribe vat I see. Ayah, eef I speak alone, few will follow me. I ken not help you now."

"But the evidence is in front of you! Look at what your _god_ has done! You told me yourself that he's changed who you are. He's completely changed your culture! He's taken away your songs and the other simple things of life that once brought you peace and contentment. He's removed your old gods and set himself up in their place. He's taken away your authority as leader of the tribe and has given it to Shuga. He demands that you give him tribute and _kill other beasts_ to gain his approval! And what does he give you in return? Sharp things and a corrupt priest as hungry for power as his master!"

Dekeft placed a paw on her shoulder, his expression conciliatory. "Tonight, I see t'e floating den ef t'e Fiyah Gott, te beastuh who work for heem, an te fiyah powah t'at come from te mountain. I not see Hellgates unduh t'e mountain like Shuga say. You hef opened my eyes, Crue, but t'at is not enough. Even eef I kill Shuga, t'ose who follow heem would kill me, en' Fiyah Gott would just find new priest."

Crue's paws balled into fists and she pushed him away. Part of her wanted to scream at Dekeft because he was right. Part of her wanted to die right there just as her plan was dying. Amidst the turmoil in her mind and her exhausted state, further arguments sprouted like weeds on her tongue before fading away into silence. "No! You… If you just… I… "

Dekeft's voice was gentle when he spoke, "We nee' to return to village, Crue. We speakuh more tomorrow."

Crue stood up, sloughing off his paw as she turned in the direction of the village. She had no more energy to weep as she thought, _I've failed. I told Robert I would be there with help, and I failed._

They walked silently through the jungle and into the tranquility of the sleeping village. Aside from the mongoose who stood watch that night, they saw no other beasts until Shuga stepped out from Dekeft's den. The smile on his face was victorious as he glared down at the First Atilak and the healer. Before they knew it, dozens of mongooses rushed to surround them on all sides; priests in their red robes, as well as a group of others who had been pulled from their beds to bear witness.

"Mi priests say you go to Dead Rock and invate t'e home ef t'e Fiyah Gott! You blaspheme hees name en' corrupt hees fait'ful." He turned to his priests and ordered, "Tie t'em en' take t'em to pit. Tomorrow, we sacrifice!"


	69. Of Steel and Moonlight

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Of Steel and Moonlight**

 _By: Tooley_

* * *

Tooley had been careful not to be seen as he trailed Ciera down through the tunnels and into the dew-stained harbor. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and saltwater, to the point where Tooley had to pant out his breaths. Eventually, he stopped behind a set of barrels and watched.

Ciera, meanwhile, approached a small ship in the harbor, then began doing seemingly mundane checks. She lowered the sails and scrutinized them, checked the hull for any damage, and even swam to examine the rudder.

Tooley wasn't sure how long she worked - or how long he'd been down here - when there was a crashing sound from one of the other boats. Ciera noticed it as well, and began to make her way over to a large, black ship fitted with black sails. Tooley shivered as he saw the ship. This was the ship that appeared that one night...

Drawing in a deep breath, he followed behind Ciera, careful so that his footsteps upon the watery rock were silent. As he approached the gangplank, he heard two voices coming from up on the ship. The captain was talking to someone. He crept up the gangplank and poked his head up over the edge.

He saw Ciera first, then looked at the other beast. He drew in a sharp breath, recognizing the bushy tail and white sashes. It was Crue.

There was a sudden grind of metal as Ciera drew her blade and leveled it at the healer's neck. Visions of Crue working in the sulfur mine snapped into his mind.

 _No!_

Tooley was moving before he knew it. He wouldn't let this happen. Not to Crue. Not to his friend.

He slammed into the captain's side and wrapped his arms around her waist, shoving both of them to the ground. Tooley heard a clatter of metal as they hit the ground, rolling to a stop a distant away from Crue.

Tooley spared a glance upwards, eyes wide and pleading. "Run, Crue! Run!"

He wheezed as an elbow slammed into his side, but his grip remained firm.

"Get... off... me!" Ciera ground out.

He heard Crue shout something, then footsteps pad across the deck. He managed to see that she was gone. Good-he just needed to stall a little longer.

A stabbing pain at his side ripped him from his thoughts. Instinctively, he shoved an arm down, managing to pry Ciera's claws free from his skin. He realized his mistake a moment too late. Gray blurred at the corner of his vision, then the world flashed white.

Tooley's head slammed back against the deck, jaw throbbing. He shook his head and squinted up. Ciera was on her feet and heading towards her cutlass. Tooley scrambled up and launched himself at her. He managed to wrap an arm around the captain's boot, and she let out a surprised yelp before crashing facefirst to the deck.

"You _idiot!_ What are you doing?" Ciera shouted as she swiped a paw for her cutlass.

Tooley tugged her back and her paw grazed the bottom of the handle. "I ain't gonna let ye 'urt anyone else!"

Ciera scowled and aimed a kick at his face. "I wasn't planning on attacking her!"

"I don' berlieve ye!" Tooley grimaced as the edge of the boot smacked into his snout. He snorted, blood flicking onto his arm.

Ciera kicked again, this time striking his chest. Her boots slipped from his grasp and he swung a futile paw at her as she clambered over to her blade, snatched it up, and whipped around.

"Enough!"

The captain stood above him, cutlass in her grip. Fire flashed through his mind. A night of burning sails, screaming beasts, and a whimpering weasel. The failure of that night was still fresh in his memory.

But here, he wasn't scared. Crue was safe, probably already long gone from this horrible place. It was just him and the captain now. It didn't matter if she killed him or not-he'd saved his friend.

Ciera stared down at the weasel, a mixture of emotions crossing her face as she recovered her breath. Her fingers worked along the handle of her cutlass, and the blade wavered in the air. She cast a glance towards the harbor, then with her free paw reached into her pocket. She withdrew a small gold coin and regarded it for a moment.

"I suppose you still have some use..." she muttered under her breath, looking back at Tooley.

Tooley grit his teeth. "That's all we ever were t' ye, weren't it?" He wiped a paw across his nose, snorting at the blood filling his nostrils. "Jus' things t' be used."

Ciera head titled to the side, expression indifferent. "Don't act like piracy was ever glamorous. You all had your roles." She leveled the sword down at Tooley. "Yours, if I recall, didn't include spying. Why are you here?"

Tooley was silent for a moment. He considered answering her, but what would he say? That he was following her? That he wanted to know why she was sneaking around this late at night? His brow softened, and he settled on a simpler response, "Why'd ye do it?"

Ciera frowned. "What?"

Tooley shook his head slightly, continuing, "I trusted ye, cap'n... I really did."

Ciera laughed. It was dry and mirthless, more of an insult than a laugh. "That's what this is about, isn't it? You're just mad I didn't pick you. After what you did to my ship, you're actually _surprised_ I didn't pick you."

Tooley clenched his fists and pressed his knuckles into the deck. "It ain't 'bout me! It's about Crue, an'... an' _yer_ crew! Yer the _cap'n,_ an we were all in this together. Y' didn' jus' not pick me, y left a lot o' beasts behind, an' now they're stuck in this 'orrible place!"

Ciera folded her arms. "You honestly think I could have just told Blade to spare them all?"

"Y' could 'ave tried! It's like y' don' even care!"

Ciera blinked. "That would be because I don't."

"Well, I do!" Ignoring the blade in front of him and the gashes in his side, Tooley slowly got to his feet. "Those beasts got lives jus' like th' rest o' us, but they ain't got no one t' stand up fer 'em!"

"And who will? You?" Ciera scoffed. "You don't get it, do you? This is so much bigger than just the slaves. They don't matter! The pirates don't matter! You and I don't matter! It's just Blade. Everything has always been about him."

Tooley's face screwed up into a confused expression. "I... I don' unnerstan'."

"Look around you!" Ciera gestured at the ships surrounding them. "Can't you see all the bloody signs right in front of you? Pirates mobilizing and being drilled, all the recent weapons being forged, the ships being loaded with these new... _cannons._ Blade's waging war. _The_ war."

"Wit' who?"

"Everyone! Anyone that would get in his way. This isn't about uniting pirates anymore, it's about conquest. It's been about conquest since the beginning! First will be Salamandastron, then all of bloody Mossflower! Southsward. The Northlands. No one will be able to stop him."

Tooley imagined sulfur mines spread all across the mainland. Hundreds- _thousands_ of beasts. Working. Dying. The sun would be blotted out under the poisonous, dust-filled air.

"No, no!" Tooley grimaced, trying to shake the visions out of his head. Still beasts lay scattered across a desolate wasteland, but there was one beast who walked among the dead. A ferret, striding forward with a proud grin upon his face. This was what he wanted.

"'E needs t' be stopped!" Tooley shouted, looking up at Ciera with wide eyes.

Ciera remained unfazed, relaxing a paw upon her hip. "He's been planning this for seasons. Maybe even since before I knew him. There's no stopping him. Not here."

Tooley stared, unbelieving. "Yer not even gonna try?"

"I'm not going to do something stupid and get myself killed, no." She cast a glance to the other ships anchored to the harbor, then sighed and raked a paw over her head. "Though, even the smart decision may not be enough..."

"An' what 'bout all th' slaves?"

"What about them?" She turned back around and shrugged. "Fate's unkind to all of us in its own way. They just learned that more than most. There's nothing to be done here."

Tooley's fur bristled, and he shook his head hard. "Yer wrong. An' if yer not gonna do anythin', then..." he hesitated, measuring his words for a moment. With a huff, he straightened up and stared the captain in the eye, "then I will!"

For a long moment, the only sound was that of water sloshing beneath them. Tooley saw Ciera's paw move and he shut his eyes, waiting for the blade to strike. There was a metallic clattering, and no pain came. He blinked down, running paws over himself to make sure he really was all right before he noticed Ciera's cutlass lying on the ground.

"Fine then," Ciera said. "Have your 'crew.' I'm done sticking my neck out for beasts."

Tooley's gaze fell to the cutlass in front of him. Tentatively, he reached down and hefted the blade up. His eyes trailed up the steel where moonlight shimmered across its edge. The dance of light spurred something within him that was all at once familiar and nameless. The dark, lantern-lit deck of the _Maiden_ crossed his mind, and he realized this wasn't the first time he'd encountered this feeling.

Only this time, he understood it more. The blade was just steel formed into a useful shape, but the light that spread across its surface revealed its true nature. Here was a way to fight for those who couldn't-to pierce through the darkness and restore rightness to beasts so wronged.

This was what he needed to make things right.

Suddenly, the blade was ripped away from his sight. Tooley's arms were abruptly locked behind him, and something sharp pressed to his neck.

"Got 'im, Cap'n Ancora!" came a raspy voice.

Three corsairs had appeared on the ship. One was a musky-smelling stoat that pinned Tooley in a tight grip. A rat stood at Tooley's side, a shiny dagger held up against his neck.

"What happened here?" a fox, small and agile-looking, said.

Ciera straightened her jacket and stood up straighter. "I was inspecting the ship and found this weasel stowing away on-board." She reached into her pocket and flicked a gold coin to the fox. "He was stealing from the treasury."

The fox caught the coin, then shot a dirty look at Tooley.

"W-What?!" Tooley sputtered. "That ain't tru-"

The stoat clapped a paw over his mouth. Tooley struggled to talk, but quickly refocused his attention on breathing through his blood-filled nostrils.

"Oh, and then he attacked me," Ciera said with a meaningful look towards the sword in the fox's grip.

"Oh-ho, yer in trouble now!" the rat said, a whistle accompanying his words through a gap in his rotted teeth. "Attackin' one o' Blade's fav'rites _and_ stealin' 'is treashur? Heh heh, I'm gonna wanna see dis!"

The fox stepped forward. "What do you want us to do with him?"

Ciera shrugged. "Take him back up to crew quarters and let the overseer decide."

The rat's smile fell. " _All_ th' way back up der?"

"Yes." Ciera narrowed her eyes at the rat. "Or is there a problem with that?"

"Err... no, cap'n, 'course not."

Ciera turned and took a step towards the gangplank before the small fox ran up to her and cleared his throat.

"Captain. This is yours, aye?" The fox held up Ciera's cutlass across his paws.

Ciera regarded the blade for a moment. "No. It's not." Without another word, she proceeded down the gangplank and disappeared over the edge. Part of Tooley hurt when he realized he would probably never see her again.

The stoat finally dropped his paw from Tooley's mouth, and he took a deep breath before he felt a paw shove him towards the gangplank.

"C'mon," the rat muttered. "Let's get t' marchin'..."

* * *

The trek up through the Dead Rock was plodding, and the rat took every opportunity to complain. First it was about his swollen heels, so they slowed their pace. Then it was about his arm getting tired from holding the knife up, so he let it drop. When he stopped finding things to complain about, he focused his attention on Tooley.

"Could be th' stacks fer ye," he said with a thoughtful tap of his chin, "er a good twistin' on th' rod. Maybe we'll even keep ye fer a good keelhaulin' once we set sail!"

Tooley didn't understand what any of those meant, but the rat's tone was malicious. Tooley bit at his lip, then turned to look at the fox walking beside them. He'd been mesmerized by the captain's blade ever since they had left the harbor.

Tooley set his jaw. He remembered Chak's words. He just had one chance. He needed to wait for the right opportunity.

Halfway up the mountain, they reached a split, where a hollowed out tunnel veered off to the right. A small door was close at the end of the tunnel, but Tooley recognized the wave of heat that emanated from beyond it.

As they passed the path to the forge, Tooley saw that a beast was walking towards them from the other side, a steaming bowl of soup cupped loosely in his paws. Tooley noticed the heat-blistered, reinforced apron the weasel wore, and how the fur around the weasel's eyes and snout shined silver in the lantern light.

"Tooley?" Rindclaw said, eyes widening.

They were just about to cross paths now. The rat was grumbling about something.

Tooley's gaze flicked down to the bowl of soup in Rindclaw's paws, and the steam that lifted up from it.

This was his chance.

"'M sorry," he whispered under his breath, then swept a leg out.

His boot smacked into Rindclaw's shins, sending the older weasel tumbling to the ground. The bowl of soup hit the ground, sending steaming liquid spraying out. The rat shrieked and dodged away, and Tooley felt the stoat's grip on him loosen. Just enough.

Tooley leaned forward and sunk his teeth into the stoat's arm. His captor howled in pain and collapsed backwards, his other paw clutching his bleeding arm.

The rat shouted out something, and Tooley knew he only had a few more seconds. He spun to face the thin fox, who still seemed dazed. The two locked eyes. Tooley darted forward as the fox fumbled to get a proper grip on the sword. Tooley crashed into him so hard that his hat went flying off as the two beasts toppled to the floor. Tooley's paws wrapped around the guard of the cutlass and kicked a boot into the fox's stomach. The fox sputtered out a hack, and the cutlass came loose.

Tooley scrambled to his feet. He dodged a swipe from the rat and shoved the pirate into the rock wall. There was a loud crack, and Tooley saw a tooth flick through the air before the rat hit the ground.

He turned to run through the tunnel to see that Rindclaw stood in front of him, blocking the pathway. The older weasel's hard gaze suddenly widened. His eyes drifted up to Tooley's head, and his face went several shades whiter.

Tooley took the opportunity to dart around the weasel and head back through the tunnel. His grip tightened around the cutlass. There was no turning back now. This was his chance to fix things.

There was only one thing he had to do: kill Captain Blade.


	70. Yo Ho, Yo Ho

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Yo Ho, Yo Ho...**

 _By: Airan (Admin)_

* * *

 **The Following is a Substituted Post Written for Ciera Ancora**

Ciera was silent as Tooley was dragged away by the two guards, her eyes watching them the whole way as they yanked and pushed the blundering weasel down the docks and towards the tunnels of the Dead Rock. The weasel turned his head, looking towards her with a look of only disappointment.

Ciera ignored it and turned away. It was only when the shouts dimmed in volume and she was sure that the guards had disappeared into the tunnels with their prisoner, did the ferret look back.

Of all the times for Tooley to meddle, it of course had to have been at the worst possible time, and though Ciera had tried to stall for as long as she could by sending them to the overseer, it would only be a matter of time before Blade heard word of the attack as well and, more importantly, how she had been skulking about the harbor without permission. What little time she had to begin with was now even shorter.

It was time, now or never.

The soft sound of an oar dipping into the water caused her to turn her head in alarm, but Ciera quickly realized who had caused it. She strode over the dock to where the two beasts she had found aboard _The Phantom_ were hiding, her heavy boots making the boards beneath her footpaws creak with each step.

"The coast is clear," she told them with a sigh. "That weasel sure picked a bad time to grow a spine."

The squirrel's contempt was impossible to miss with the way she glared at her. " _That weasel_ may not be the bravest beast, or the smartest, but at least he cared about someone other than himself."

Ciera thought of Rin and how she once held her closely in her arms. She thought of her crew as they were cut down by Greyjaw and Atlas. And she thought of Blade and the tears she had struggled to hide after his supposed death, and the tears she struggled to hide now. Tooley thought that she was a bad captain, but he was wrong. A good captain knew when to care for their crew, but they also knew when to leave their care and their crew behind. "I once had somebeast I cared about, but that is no longer a luxury I can afford," Ciera said. She glanced both ways quickly before looking back to the squirrel and mongoose. "You should leave now before another patrol comes by."

"What are you going to do now?"

Ciera looked up towards _The Zephyr._ Right past it, a group of small vessels - small enough that an experienced beast could likely sail them alone- were tied to the docks, rocking gently in the waves. She sighed.

"Something necessary."

* * *

"So, what do you think?"

That was the question. From the moment that she was brought into the Dead Rock, that was the question that constantly left Blade's lips as he paraded her through each and every corridor of the mountain with that usual expectant look of his, showing her everything he had created and doing his damned best to convince her to stay. He showed her the harbor nestled in the hidden cove and the fleet of ships that had been built there, the sulfur and iron mines and the dead-eyed, starved beasts who worked in them, and lastly, the weapons he managed to create.

"They're called cannons," he explained, running his claws down the length of one of the contraptions where the two ferrets stood in _The Phantom's_ hull. "If there's one thing that I always envied about our dear friend, Atlas, it's his power. He broke through our forces like they were bloody dominoes, knockin' our vessels down one by one. There were gaps in the decks and walls from where his broadsword smashed through them. Doors were ripped from their hinges, and all that followed him was blood. He was unstoppable, a true titan of a beast.

"But with these, I finally have that power, Ciera," Blade continued. "Each one of these cannons makes Atlas look like a child throwin' a temper tantrum. It's a weapon stronger than any badger could ever dream t' be. Would you like t' see a demonstration?"

Ciera didn't need to. The piercing screams of her crew as the weapons tore holes in _the Silver Maiden_ still burned fresh in her mind. She shook her head. "And will the other pirates get these as well?"

"Of course not," Blade answered her. "Who's t' stop a beast like Greyjaw from pointin' them at me when the time comes? No, I'll be movin' them soon t' _the Zephyr_ and that's where they'll stay."

"And where will _you_ be pointing them, Blade?"

He never answered that question, and as they moved on in their tour through the tunnels, rows and rows of identical-looking beasts moved beside them in strict single file formation, all of them straightening their posture and holding their heads high in the presence of the Pirate King. If it wasn't for their distinctive red sashes that she was told identified them as such, Ciera would have hardly known that these beasts were pirates at all. In fact, with the way they were being drilled, shoved into barracks, and marched about, it seemed that Atlas had given Blade far more inspiration than he gave him credit for. They were hardly pirates anymore, but a military, ready to march on Salamandastron just as Atlas had on Terramort.

It was only when they had made their way past the procession and back to Blade's office did the Pirate King turn back with his expectant look. "So, what did you think?" The question came again. "Have you made your decision?"

"Yes, I have," Ciera answered, crossing her arms. She paused, letting him wait, before finally opening her mouth. "Blade, what is this?"

"What's what, Ciera?" he asked. For how intelligent she knew him to be, it was strange to hear confusion in his tone.

" _That,_ Blade," she said. "The uniforms. The drills. The cannons..."

Blade chuckled, a light smile stretching across his maw. "It's the future, Ciera... the future of piracy."

Ciera was dumbstruck. "The future?"

The other ferret sighed. "Think of it like a ball of clay, Ciera. If you wanted it t' be a cube or a pyramid instead, you would have t' press and mold it in your paws until it became that shape, and though it may look different, it's still the same clay," Blade explained.

"The same clay? You turned them into the bloody Waverunners!" Ciera snapped.

"I turned them int' somethin' that works," Blade replied calmly, though Ciera could hear his tone growing colder. "Piracy was flawed. It needed discipline, a cause t' fight for, like Atlas had when he formed those blasted Waverunners, and what better cause t' fight for then freedom for our kind, freedom from beasts like Atlas who only want us dead? No, it's time we were the ones who were free. It's time they feared _us._

"Would you listen to yourself?" Ciera spat. "You sound just like those idiot warlords you said you wouldn't become!"

Blade rolled his eyes. "So, I take it that you've decided t' leave then?"

"Yes," Ciera answered through a narrow gaze.

"Very well, I can have a ship prepared for you in the mornin'," the other ferret said.

"No, I'll be choosing the ship," Ciera answered him, "as well as the provisions and supplies on board." Blade was stupid if he thought that she would just let him prepare the ship for her. It would likely break in two by the time she hit deeper waters or the provisions would be poisoned. He couldn't have anybeast spilling the secret that he was still alive after all, and with a few broken nails or a faulty tiller, he could easily take care of any loose ends without getting his paws dirty.

"You still don't trust me?" Blade sighed. "What happened t' us, Ciera?"

"You died, Cyril."

The pirate king frowned and glowered at her. "I wasn't the one who abandoned piracy, Ciera."

Ciera clenched her teeth. "Don't you dare say that I abandoned piracy! Because for the last ten seasons, I've done nothing but fight those blasted Waverunners and watch as they slew captain after captain, crew after crew, all while you sat by, letting it happen. You told me to choose, and I chose piracy. And if I could go back, I would still choose it."

"Then don't abandon it this time, Ciera. Fight. Fight for piracy," Blade said as he reached into the drawer of his desk and produced a red sash. He held it out for her in offering.

Ciera tried to imagine the world that Blade envisioned, a world where the dream of conquering Salamandastron was fulfilled and vermin ruled. It would never work of course. After the mountain fell and the woodlanders were killed or enslaved, vermin would only want more, just as they always did. More gold, more food, until eventually nothing was left. Vermin would finally have their place in the world but at the cost of its destruction.

She looked back to where Blade held out the red sash. There was a time when he, Cyril, held out his paw to her and asked her to help him change the world, his eyes sparkling with such passion for his own ideals that it was impossible to refuse. She wanted to help him. She wanted to unite piracy and create a world where vermin could truly belong. But his eyes betrayed nothing now. He overcame that weakness. The day that he took the name Blade, was the day that Cyril, and all of his ideals, died. Blade didn't care about piracy, only power.

Ciera regarded the red sash in his paw one more time before taking it from him and tying it around her waist. "I will always fight for piracy, Blade. Always."

* * *

But this wasn't piracy.

Ciera stepped across the gangplank of the vessel in front of her, a small ship known as _The Whirlpool,_ and quickly made her way below deck. She ran her paw across the walls, feeling every grain in the timber and checking for any intentional damage or imperfections. Just as she expected, the last two ships she inspected would have barely gotten her out of the harbor, let alone on the open sea with how they were designed. Death traps, the lot of them. However, _The Whirlpool_ seemed sturdy enough to at least last the journey she was intending.

After her finishing her inspection, Ciera went back above deck and looked out at the entrance to the hidden cove and watched as the waves slowly lapped against the rocks. The moon shone brightly outside and the stars hung overhead. It was a tranquil night, ideal for sailing.

Ciera made her way to the side of _The Whirlpool_ and gave a glance to the brass nameplate nailed to it. She frowned before taking a small knife she found in the ship's storage and prying it loose. In its place, she carved a new name.

By the time the moon began to dip below the horizon, _The Silver Maiden_ had left the Dead Rock behind and was already trudging through the waves of the open sea. Ciera worked the tiller carefully, closing her eyes as she familiarized herself with each creaking timber. A cool breeze blew through the ferret's fur as the dawn sun began to peek over the horizon. She looked to the mountain she left behind before turning her back on Blade one last time. Slowly, she untied the red sash from around her waist.

Letting it blow away in the calm breeze, she began to sail north.

END OF ROUND 5


	71. For I Scorn To Do Anyone a Mischief

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **For I Scorn To Do Anyone a Mischief- When It Is Not To My Advantage**

 _by: Plink_

* * *

Plink pressed her belly to the high ledge overlooking the harbor and watched Ciera Ancora steer her vessel out into the night. She had climbed up to the mole's chimney with the intention of talking to Robert, but a barely-discernible shout from below had diverted her.

"Run, Crue! Run!"

Instead of climbing to the slave quarters, Plink had cowered on the ledge while Tooley was dragged off by guards, and while two shadowy beasts - one of whom was Crue - slipped silently away in a small boat. Now, Ancora was stealing a ship, unnoticed in the wake of Tooley's arrest. Yet even that seemed less important than the disaster Plink felt looming ahead.

If Crue was here, that meant she was going ahead with her plan - and whatever that plan was, it was sure to spell trouble for life inside the Dead Rock. Plink had brooded on the healer's secret for two days, but now the danger was real. Her home was under attack. She had to warn Captain Blade.

Plink scrambled down the rough wall and was about to dart into the tunnel that would take her to Blade's chambers, but a muffled cry stopped her. She drew up short and, with bated breath, peeked around the shelter of the stone doorway.

At the far end of the harbor, _The Zephyr_ bobbed against its moorings. Lanterns had been rigged about the deck, and Plink could pick out the sentries stationed aboard. They stood alert and watchful. All was quiet. For a moment, she thought she must have imagined the sound.

Then, one of the sentries shuttered his lantern twice. From a shadowy tunnel, beasts began emerging. They trotted quietly across to the dock in a sloppy line and began boarding _The Zephyr_ , softening their steps against the gangplank. Behind them, walking at a more dignified pace, came a portly weasel.

Even from across the harbor, Plink could pick out his pale throat and chin by the lanterns' light. Greyjaw climbed the gangplank with his pirates at work all around him, untying the mooring lines and hauling in the anchor and heaving limp shapes overboard.

The sentries. Each body hit the dock with a resonant thump and did not move.

Plink's stomach twisted up and she darted away from the harbor. Greyjaw's crew had killed the real sentries. They were stealing the ship. Suddenly, running to Blade wasn't enough to avert disaster. Plink needed help now.

She sprinted up a stone ramp to the cluster of captains' apartments where she sometimes delivered Captain Blade's messages and skidded to a halt before one door in particular.

"Cap'n Burnet!" she shouted, hammering against the wood. "Cap'n Burnet, there's a problem!"

No light came on within the perfumed chamber beyond, but the door snapped open from under Plink's fist and the wildcat was there, looming out of the dark with a carefully serene expression on her face.

"A problem," Captain Burnet growled or purred. "Do tell."

Under her unblinking stare, Plink had to swallow hard to manage words. "It- It's Greyjaw, ma'am. He's stealin' _The Zephyr_!"

The wildcat's gaze sharpened at once, and her whiskers twitched. Her tail coiled around her bare footpaw, the tip curling and relaxing repeatedly against the lace hem of her nightgown.

In the moment of silence, Plink took in the delicate white fabric. "Er… Ma'am, should I wake the other cap'ns?"

Burnet seemed not to hear her. She brushed past her, and Plink hesitated only a second before trailing at her heels. Without even bothering to knock, the wildcat opened another door down the corridor. A light burned within, and Plink glimpsed the occupant through the gap under Burnet's arm.

"Greyjaw's making his move," the wildcat said quietly. "Wake the others."

Zorba sat up from where he had been sprawled on a grass mat on the floor. His expressionless eyes flicked to Plink. "Loud warning from a little mouth. Our enemiess ssleep lightly."

"Then best you get a move on, slugabed."

Zorba looked back at Burnet and folded his muscular arms, tipping his head to one side in a gesture that would have seemed obstinate had he not spoken quickly to keep Burnet from leaving. "What about the whelp?"

Plink felt claws close around the back of her coat collar. Burnet smiled down at her. "She's going to help me save the day. Isn't that right, Miss Plink?"

"I- er…"

Before Plink could manage a response, the wildcat shot the monitor a final glance and hauled her down the corridor toward the harbor. She staggered as she was dragged along at Burnet's swift pace.

"Ma'am! Shouldn't I go report to Cap'n Blade?"

"Whatever for? What shall you tell him when he asks whether Greyjaw succeeded in stealing his flagship?"

"I- I don't-"

Burnet spared her a dry glance. "You will have to tell him you don't know, that you ran away before the fight even started. How do you imagine he will like that answer?"

Plink finally got her footpaws under her, but she was no less certain about their destination. "He won't, I guess. But what are we even gonna do? Just me an' you…" She shot the wildcat's nightgown a dubious glance. "Greyjaw's got a whole crew. An' they're probably halfway across the harbor by now…"

"Near enough," Burnet said as they emerged from the tunnel.

Indeed, _The Zephyr_ had made progress across the lagoon, but there wasn't wind enough in the cave to move a ship of its size with any speed. Captain Burnet seemed unsurprised. She didn't even pause to glance at the bodies of the sentries before sprinting past all the docks to where the stone bank narrowed to little more than a walkway.

Plink followed, bewildered. She had not explored this part of the harbor and was surprised to find that the stone ledge ran all the way around the water to very near the gaping hole through which ships passed. Burnet pulled up short where the ledge ended and paused to watch _The Zephyr_ 's slow approach.

Plink looked alternately at the wildcat's moon-limned face and the pirates that peered over the gunwale at them. Laughter floated across the dark water.

"This was yer plan?" she sneered. "We run out here an' watch up close while Greyjaw gets away?"

Burnet ignored her in favor of shouting. "Greyjaw! Anchor that ship at once!"

The foremost pirates gave a roar of laughter, then cleared out of the way as a heavy-set figure took their place at the rail. Greyjaw's voice returned, thick with amusement, "Well lookit you, Miss Julia! Might be that's the prettiest little number I ever seen. Did ye wear it just fer me?"

"This is silk, you cretin," she growled, then shrugged, "but I suppose if I'm to ruin it with anybeast's blood, I would choose yours. Where do you think you're going with that ship?"

Greyjaw's jovial tone fell away, leaving only hardness beneath. "Thought I'd take Blade's new toy out an' test 'er cannons before the voyage. Seemed a decent thing t' do."

"A true paragon of decency, you are."

"I give it me level best," Greyjaw sneered. "Good o' ye t' come see me off."

"Yes," Burnet said, taking a step back and absently shoving Plink out of the way. "About that…"

Plink staggered back and watched the wildcat shoulder through what had appeared to be solid stone. It was no more than a stiff curtain, painted and textured with grit to blend with the wall around it. In the shadowy compartment beyond, Burnet gripped a lever as tall as Plink.

"I think you'll find you aren't going anywhere," she said and, with a vicious smile, threw her weight against the lever.

There was a groan and a scream of rusted machinery, then the massive crank beyond the lever began rotating with increasing speed. Burnet paid the wheel no mind and stepped forward with a satisfied smirk. The noise grew to a rumble and Plink backed away. She could feel it shuddering up through her footpaws.

"What is that?" she demanded, but Burnet only grinned up at Greyjaw. _The Zephyr_ was close enough now that Plink could pick out the suspicious, angry look on the other captain's face.

"I warned you about those dice, Greyjaw," Burnet said with cruel glee.

The weasel spat curses and Plink watched, mesmerized, as a giant chain came rising up across the mouth of the harbor. Each slick link was big as a doorway through the center and covered in dripping algae. For a moment, Plink felt a rising tide of relief.

Then Greyjaw shouted some orders and his crew scrambled to lower one of the longboats. Plink licked her lips and turned to Captain Burnet. "They're comin', ma'am."

"So I see." Burnet made no move. Plink took one anxious step.

"Cap'n Burnet, they'll cut us off. We're outnumbered an' we ain't got any weapons."

The wildcat turned her sharp eyes on Plink and settled one heavy, soft paw on her shoulder. "Walk with me, then."

Plink wanted to run, but that paw was so heavy, its grip so strong, all she could do was mechanically walk alongside Burnet. She settled instead for watching the pirates' progress as they finally managed to disengage the longboat and begin rowing for the bank. All the while, Burnet guided her at a leisurely stroll, apparently unperturbed.

"I suppose it can't be considered your fault that you're a coward," she said idly. "It's in a rat's nature to skulk and run away. Even Petre. Everybeast calls him Bloody Bells in deference to his command over his heap of rabble, but if the odds were ever against him, he would scurry off into the shadows. Just as you wish to do right now."

Plink didn't deny it. Her eyes were glued to the pirates crammed aboard the longboat. The steersbeast had set a course to intercept them, and if they didn't hurry, they would be trapped. Plink began chewing her thumbclaw.

"If you had been born a cat, you would be savoring this moment. Just look at them," Burnet purred, her claws digging through the shoulder of Plink's coat. "They think they have us. They think they can haul up the counterweight and escape. Silly little fools puffed up on futile hopes."

"Please, ma'am, let's hurry," Plink whimpered. The longboat had halved the distance to the bank already and the pirates remaining on the ship were readying a second boat. "We can still make it before they cut us off."

"Yes," Burnet said. Plink felt a shock of pain as those hooked claws delved through cloth and fur and flesh. "But we wouldn't really be saving the day if we didn't even get in a fight."

Plink didn't understand, but she nodded hurriedly and kept apace. When the pirates scrambled from the longboat and onto the stone bank, she stifled the frightened moan in her throat. The stoat in front had beady eyes and a sour tilt to his mouth and he drew a notched cutlass as he advanced.

"I'm gonna have me a real ball of a time cuttin' ribbons outta yew an' yer pretty dress."

"Oh, spare me," Burnet sighed, and then shoved Plink directly at the stoat.

Plink took three startled steps, then stopped abruptly at the stabbing impact and slicing pain. The stoat cast her an annoyed glance, then kicked her away. Plink fell against the wall and slid down, clutching her side, just as Burnet surged past her, grabbing the stoat's sword paw and raising it high before raking her claws down his throat.

He made a terrible sound, a gurgling scream, and Plink cringed where she sat. Burnet wrenched the sword from his grip and kicked him off the bank. She faced the other pirates with an open stance, laying her ears flat and hissing like water thrown on a hot pan.

The pirates hesitated. The ledge was only wide enough at this point to accommodate one at a time, or two if they were very coordinated, but they weren't. One by one they approached, and one by one Julia Burnet cut them down.

Plink hugged her side and watched the slaughter. She watched Zorba and a crowd of other beasts arrive in the harbor and begin rowing a galley out to _The Zephyr_. She watched the second longboat of Greyjaw's pirates unload near the chain and begin hurrying to work the crank, walking slow circles and pushing the big wheel to draw up the counterweight.

Captain Burnet had been right, Plink realized absently. Greyjaw was beaten already.

"My my," the wildcat was saying. "What have we here?"

The fight was over. The few remaining beasts had piled back into the boat and were hurrying to rejoin the main crew. Burnet was crouching to pick something up from the stone. It glittered in her soft paw, big as an eye.

The wildcat's eyes glittered much the same as they came to rest on Plink.

"Now this is interesting."

"Tha- that ain't mine. Must've been one o' these others. I- I'm hurt!"

Burnet shoved Plink's paws away to reveal the slashed-open pocket, the shallow gash where the cutlass had been diverted along her side after striking the diamond. Plink's shirt was torn and lightly spotted with blood, but it was nothing compared to the splatter covering the wildcat's nightgown.

"Lucky little rodent," Burnet murmured. Her eyes shone with something like triumph. "You'll pull through, I think, though I can't speak for what will happen once Captain Blade realizes you've been stealing from him."

"I ain't been stealin'!" Plink would have gone on, but the wildcat settled both paws on her shoulders and leaned in close. Her stare was paralyzing.

"It won't matter what you say. Nobody half-betrays Blade. Greyjaw will be lucky if he dies aboard that ship he tried to steal. But you…"

Plink could feel those claws pressing into her sleeves like the tips of knives. Burnet smiled.

"This secret will most certainly kill you," she said. She held up the gem, then slipped it into the pocket of her nightgown. "And that means you owe me quite a hefty debt for keeping it."

Plink could only stare as the wildcat straightened and loomed over her. She felt an intense urge to run, just bolt for the nearest tunnel and leave this place and this beast and the distant sounds of fighting behind.

Instead, Plink climbed to her own footpaws, glaring at the floor. "What do I have to do?"

Captain Burnet's mouth curled up at the corners. "Nothing special - for now. Go report to Captain Blade that the harbor is secure and _The Zephyr_ is in the process of being recaptured. And don't forget to inform him who it was that saved the day."

Plink nodded at the floor, then hurried away. As she ran and leapt up the stairs toward Blade's quarters, her side stung and her stomach churned nastily.

She had been so stupid. For days, she'd carried the diamond in her pocket, meaning to return it. She could have dropped it anywhere and nobeast would have known it was her that stole it, yet she wasn't satisfied to merely get rid of the evidence. She had to return it to where it belonged.

And now, it was too late to do either.

Plink arrived to a chaotic scene at the outer entrance to Blade's quarters. A big guard had a weasel pinned down while the other guard was rubbing his snout and hefting a cudgel with his off paw. A cutlass lay on the floor nearby, and two more guards - a rat and a fox - were just arriving.

The weasel, Plink swiftly realized, was Tooley. As suddenly as she recognized him, she felt a stab of guilt. She'd forgotten he'd been arrested. He struggled against the bigger stoat, grasping at the fallen cutlass.

"Lemme go! I got ter see Blade!"

The rat was bristling and panting as if he'd just come from a long run. "…dirty rotter… burnt me on soup…"

"We caught him trying to steal a ship," the fox said. "Taking him up to the overseer, but he decided to make trouble."

The stoat with the cudgel took a step closer to Tooley. "Why you witless little-"

"Wait!" Breathless, Plink waved her paws and darted between the other beasts to stand in the guard's way. "He ain't done nothin' wrong! He wasn't stealin' - he was tryin' to stop Ancora!"

The other rat spoke up loudly at the same time as the stoat with the cudgel and Plink didn't understand either of them, but she did hear the door slam open behind her.

"What the _devil_ is goin' on out here?" Captain Blade snapped.

The stoat started talking but Plink spoke over him. "Cap'n! There's trouble in the harbor an' these… _cretins_ arrested the wrong beast!"

Captain Blade waved the stoat off and focused on Plink. "What trouble?"

"Ancora stole one o' the small ships an' got away clean because the guards arrested Tooley instead o' her, then Greyjaw tried to take _The Zephyr_ but - but Cap'n Burnet stopped him, sir. She blocked off the harbor an' fought a bunch o' beasts."

He stroked his chin, eyes darting. " _The Zephyr_ is secured?"

Plink clenched her arm to her wounded side. "They were still fightin' when I left, but Cap'n Zorba had a big crew with him. He's probably won by now."

"Zorba and Burnet," Blade said, frowning. Abruptly, he jabbed a claw at the fox. "You've got your breath. Fetch my crew t' the harbor sharpish. Tell 'em t' be ready for a fight. Miss Plink, Mister Tooley, come with me."

He turned back into the main corridor of his quarters and, after making sure the guard let Tooley go, Plink followed. Captain Blade was in his office already, buckling his sword to his hip. When Plink entered, he cast her a gauging look.

"Morning is still hours off. What were you doing in the harbor so late?"

"I… I just like the harbor… when I can't sleep." Plink hesitated, not liking the growing coolness in his eyes. The sick feeling welled up in her belly, and she remembered another important thing she had forgotten. "Cap'n, Ancora was talkin' to somebeast after the guards took Tooley away. It was that squirrel healer, Crue, an' some mongoose from the village-"

"Plink!"

Startled by his voice behind her, Plink shot Tooley a wary glare and went on. "I think they were plottin' somethin'."

Blade straightened his belt just so, frowning at his paws, then glanced at her anxious expression. "It's nothing t' be concerned about, Miss Plink. Already bein' handled. Come dawn, she'll burn with the Fire God's blessin'."

Sacrificed. Like that hare, who had screamed and screamed. Plink's heart gave a nasty lurch and she hardly had the wits to step out of Blade's way as he made to leave.

"Both of you are t' wait here for my return. I've questions for you both and no time t' go into it now."

"Aye Cap'n," Plink said to his back as he strode away. Even when he passed through the main door and shut it behind him, she didn't want to look away.

Because that would mean she had to look at Tooley. Not that it mattered if she looked at him; her guts were in knots even while she stared past him. When he spoke, she nearly cringed.

"'Ow could ye?" He said it quietly, a tiny, heart-wrenching sound, but as he went on his tone grew angrier. "Crue's tryin' ter 'elp beasts, an' ye just- just threw 'er overboard like she was nothin'!"

"He already knew," Plink snapped. "You heard him, it ain't my fault she's in trouble."

"That ain't th' point! Don't ye know what goes on 'ere, Plink? Th' things they do t' th' slaves? It ain't alright!" Tooley slammed his paw against the doorframe and Plink finally looked directly at him. He looked furious and pained. He looked like it was him she'd revealed rather than Crue. "It ain't enough ter just not be th' one responsible fer what 'appens! Ye gotta do somethin' fer beasts who can't fight back!"

Plink glared at him for a long second as the words sank in, solidified. "I _am_ doin' somethin'. This place ain't perfect, but it's all I've got. I can make it better." She clenched her fists at her sides. "An' I never wanted Crue to get hurt, but I ain't gonna just let her take my home from me, either!"

Tooley stared at her with his sad, angry eyes. "Th' things that've been done 'ere… ye can't redeem this place, Plink. If ye stay, yer just gonna become another one o' them."

"Good!" Plink threw up her paws and immediately winced at the pain in her side, but ground on, "I _want_ to be one of them! I want to be somebeast who belongs somewhere! Not some pathetic outsider thankin' goodbeasts fer their table scraps!" She kicked over one of the guest chairs, but it was so solidly built that it only flipped onto its side on the carpet. Plink kicked it again. "Not some weak coward who could die and nobeast would miss!"

She went on kicking the chair until Tooley grabbed her shoulder. It was still sore from Burnet's claws and Plink reflexively knocked his paw away. Tooley didn't seem to notice.

"An' ye think Blade's gonna miss yer?" he demanded, already shaking his head. "'E don't care 'bout anybeast but 'imself. Yer just another tool t' 'im!"

"At least I'm useful," Plink spat. "At least I ain't some idiot who can't remember things without chewin' on a mangy old hat!"

Tooley's eyes widened and he stared at her as if she'd kicked him. He absently reached a paw up to dab at his bare head, at the sunken spot Plink had never noticed before. The sick feeling in her gut resurged, harder than ever.

Plink turned and ran. She shoved through the nearest door and slammed it behind her, pressing her back against it as if to keep the mere memory of the look on Tooley's face from following. There was no noise from the room behind her, no sound of approaching steps, no words.

Plink gulped back a furious sob and glared at the room around her.

At first, she didn't recognize it, since the only other time she had been here, it had been completely dark. Presently, torches flickered along the catwalk and beside either door, their light barely penetrating into the pit. Cautiously, Plink edged up to the railing of the catwalk and looked down. Shadows trembled along the rocky floor below, but the badger was nowhere to be seen.

Judging by the thick rope and heavy-duty pulley that were rigged up on the catwalk, Plink supposed he must have been removed, perhaps even before the treasure was hauled out. Where he had been taken, though, she couldn't guess.

Plink chafed her arms idly and tried to think of something else, but the huff and crackle of the torches reminded her of other flames. The silence felt wrong, like it missed the screams that were so fresh in Plink's ears. The stoat from the harbor, the hare in the bonfire, Daggle and Murdin and that vole being flogged after he dropped his load of treasure.

And now it was Crue's turn.

Plink clawed at her headfur and scrubbed the tears off her cheeks, but the healer's words kept coming back to her as if two weeks hadn't passed, as if that night by the campfire had been just hours before.

 _Everybeast makes mistakes, but there's a line. Once you cross it, once the blood of another beast is on your paws, there's no repairing the damage you've done._

It didn't matter that Blade had already known about Crue's plot. It didn't make any difference at all, because Tooley was right. Plink had thrown out Crue's name like it was nothing, like the healer was nothing, just an obstacle between Plink and what she wanted.

It was the truth, though, wasn't it? Crue was no friend of hers; she meant to put an end to the Dead Rock. Exposing her plan was no different from stopping Greyjaw. Plink had watched Captain Burnet claw open throats and bellies like they were no more than ripe fruits - and she had accepted it, because that was the price paid by betrayers.

Plink looked at her own paws. They appeared clean. And yet six pirates had died before her eyes because she had interfered. Her own people. Their deaths should not have meant less to her than Crue's doom.

But they did. Plink cared more about a squirrel she had hardly known than she cared about her own people.

She snarled and kicked out blindly. Her footpaw connected with a steel lever that gave immediately under the pressure. The pulley squeaked as a lock was released and the rope lowered its platform rapidly into the pit. Plink flinched as the wood struck bottom with a crash, but the silence that followed felt no better.

Crue was going to die, and her plan to destroy the Dead Rock and free the slaves would die with her. Plink couldn't stop that from happening, now. But there was one thing she could do, one way to honor the healer who had believed that a little thief could still be an innocent.

The time to act was now.

Plink hastily engaged the lock so that the rope wouldn't shift, then climbed down into the pit. The rubble rasped her footpaws as she landed and darted down the tunnel. Hardly pausing to pick a glowing bloom in the mushroom chamber, she half-crawled half-slid down the long wormhole and finally poked her snout through the hole in the ceiling.

There was nobeast in the chamber below, but Plink could hear beasts coughing and groaning in the next room. If she called out, perhaps she could get one of the woodlanders' attention. She drew breath, but then hesitated. What if the wrong beast came? What if a guard heard her?

For a long time, Plink lingered there, trying to decide what to do and hoping Robert would simply appear. He did not, and if she didn't manage to tell him which tunnel to take and that now was the time to take it, everything she was about to do would be pointless.

Finally, Plink dug the charcoal pencil from her pocket and began drawing carefully on the flattest part of the ceiling she could reach. She drew a mound with a hole through the top, and a round hedgehog poised to climb down the hole. Then, she drew an arrow going down to a simple, triangle-sailed ship.

Plink sat back to assess the drawing and, figuring it was clear enough, she set her mushroom just in the mouth of the tunnel. Hopefully, Robert would spot the signal and know what it meant. If not…

Plink shook off the doubt and turned to climb back up the tunnel in darkness. He would see it. He would understand. He had to.

Back in the mushroom chamber, she broke off a pawful of the glowing fungi and arranged them in a rough circle around the mounded entrance to the mole's chimney. Then, figuring she had done all she could, Plink turned toward the dagger room and drew a final, deep breath.

With a last glowing mushroom to light her way, she went to find the biggest, most distracting force she could think of. The wound was long closed, but as Plink made her way through the tunnels, the severed tip of her tail tingled unpleasantly.


	72. The Art of Interrogation

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **The Art of Interrogation**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

Well before dawn, Dead Rock buzzed with activity. Slaves and pirates alike scurried about on various tasks. The bustle of Dead Rock included the kitchen, where extra supplies were being prepared. Vera knew the ships were being loaded. For what purpose and with what she didn't know. She only knew one thing.

Crue's message had said that today was the day.

Vera had a job to do.

 _Sorry, Hylan. I'm going to have to take a risk if I'm going to help you._

"I can make the scones and hardtack, Fishlug. The gruel just needs to cook now."

The rat glared at her. "Git it done, then, an' no slackin'."

She fetched the bag of bad mushrooms and a bag of leeks from the storage room and brought them to the table. She grabbed her knife and diced up the mushrooms and leeks quickly. Setting those aside, she went in search of one of Fishlug's largest mixing bowls and added ingredients for the scones' dough, using a recipe she'd learned at an old ferret's inn only a season after leaving home. Her paws trembled as she mixed the mushrooms and leeks into the dough.

"Where's that little idiot weasel?" Fishlug roared.

 _Good question..._ Vera hadn't seen Tooley since she'd sent him off to take a break the evening before. _I hope he's okay. If he doesn't show soon, it's going to make it hard for me to get breakfast for the slaves._

Vera carefully patted the dough across a floured section of table, cut out the scones, and put them on a baking sheet. Over and over she did this, sliding the sheets into the large ovens.

She was slipping the last of her special mushroom and leek scones in the oven when a stoat and two sea rats came in. "Fishlug," the stoat said, "Captain Blade needs to see your vixen."

A shiver ran down Vera's spine. _What could Blade possibly want with me now?_

"Why?" Fishlug demanded. "I'm shortpawed as it is!"

"I got orders to round up all the foxes, and I need to ask you a few questions, too."

Fishlug cursed and swore at the stoat as Vera brushed her paws off on her apron quickly. The two sea rats sauntered over and one grabbed her by the arm.

"Quit dallying. Captain Blade doesn't like to be kept waiting."

With her escorts flanking her on either side, they marched through the tunnels. Vera's stomach rolled like a boiling pot. _Could they have found out about the soup for Torin and Chak? But how? I was careful. No one was around but Tooley... Was I tricked? Did I misjudge Tooley? Was he spying on me this whole time?_

Reaching Blade's quarters, the rats dragged her inside. Already gathered in the first big room were a half dozen foxes, members of various pirate crews, judging by the colored sashes they wore. All looked annoyed, yet Vera wagered the scowl on the face of the Pirate King kept them quiet.

The sight of the other foxes actually quelled her panic. _Relax. This probably has nothing to do with me._ She calmed her breathing, straightened her shoulders, and put on an expression of impatience.

Captain Blade began to pace slowly in front of the skulk of foxes. "I'm certain one of you knows why you're here," Blade said. "One of you has been somewhere you shouldn't have."

Vera swallowed hard and her bad leg began trembling. _Deep breath. Calm down._

"While you are all here," Blade continued, "your bunks are being searched for anything that doesn't belong and your shipmates are being questioned. However, I already have my suspicions as t' who is the guilty party."

Vera's breath caught, because Captain Blade's eyes flicked over her when he said that.

"Search them," Blade commanded the sea rats who stood as guards.

The other foxes each protested as they were patted down and pockets and pouches turned out. Vera submitted quietly, afraid to make a scene that could be used to show her guilt, but she shivered all the same as paws ran over her. Then the rat found her apron's hidden pocket. She bit her lip as he pulled out the shells, unwrapped the bit of fabric binding them together, and then looked at the child's drawing of two hares.

"Cap'n, look at this." He handed the picture to Captain Blade.

The ferret captain studied it for a moment. "An odd trinket, Miss Silvertooth."

Vera's tongue felt heavy in her mouth. "Yes, sir. I know. I keep it as a reminder."

"Of what?"

"To be careful of who I trust."

Blade raised an eyebrow, but returned the picture and shells. Vera tucked them back in their place with trembling paws. Down the line Blade went, questioning each fox quietly and listening intently. A one eyed weasel followed behind Blade, making notes on a sheet of parchment the whole time. One by one, the foxes were escorted out to be confined to their quarters. Finally, Blade reached her.

"How do you spend your evenings, Miss Silvertooth?" Blade asked.

She took a slow breath. "Well, immediately after dinner, I wash dishes in the kitchen. Later in the evening, I go down to the harbor to fetch water and clean up. I often get the slave's gruel ready for the morning feeding and let it simmer all night. Then I generally go to bed."

"Is anybeast with you during these times?"

"Most of the cooks are at first, but they all spend half the night away every evening. Oh, apologies, two nights ago, Tooley would have been with me all evening. Ah, Tooley Bostay, that is."

Blade's eyes narrowed and he held a whispered conversation with his lackey. He turned back to her. "So you have a long period of time every night where there is nobeast around you?"

Vera's stomach flipped. "Ah, yes, sir."

Blade clasped his paws behind him and studied her. "What is your relationship with Mister Bostay?"

 _Why do you want to know? What trouble has that weasel gotten into?_ She cleared her throat. "Not much to tell. We both served on the _Silver Maiden_ under Captain Ancora."

"He was part of Ancora's crew?"

"Yes, sir." Then Vera remembered that Ciera had not picked Tooley at the sacrifice and she felt sick.

Blade tapped a claw thoughtfully against his muzzle. "Interestin'."

The door behind her clicked open and the stoat who'd stayed behind to talk to Fishlug entered. At a nod from Blade, the one-eyed weasel scampered over and the two muttered together. After a brief conversation, the weasel looked at Blade.

"Fishlug says she stays in the kitchen as far as he knows, but ain't got a way to confirm that."

"Very well." Blade turned his back on all of them. "Come with me, Miss Silvertooth."

Vera glanced once at the exit before she followed Blade deeper into his quarters, to a room with a desk and shelves upon shelves of bookcases. The bookcases, however, stood empty. A filled crate sat near one shelf. Blade gestured to one of the chairs in the room. "Sit, please."

She sank into the confines of the plush chair, twitching her tail to one side so it curved along her left hip. She fidgeted there, too tense to enjoy the comfort.

Blade gestured to a wine bottle and several glasses on the desk. "Care for something to drink? I've got a very nice wine."

Vera held up a paw. "Oh, no thank you, Captain. I never drink. One terrible experience involving October Ale was enough to cure me of that for life." _Not to mention that I have no idea if there wouldn't be something in the drink._

Blade quirked an eyebrow as if interested, then shrugged and poured himself a glass. "Help yourself if you change your mind."

"Thank you."

Blade took a sip, then set the glass on the table beside him. "Tell me. What is your relationship with Captain Ancora?"

Vera licked dry lips, almost regretting turning away the offer of a drink. "Captain Ancora was very generous to take me aboard her ship on such short notice, and it's been an enlightening experience being here."

"Elaborate."

"Ah, well, I suppose you could say I've learned a lot about corsairs... and the way they like things to be run."

Blade stepped closer. "What were Ancora's plans, Miss Silvertooth?"

She blinked a few times. "I... I'm not sure. She never spoke of them at any length to me. I am, after all, just a cook."

Blade smiled and a chill ran down Vera's spine. "But you seem like a very observant beast." He walked across the room to a small carved cupboard and opened it up.

"I try to pay attention to things around me, Captain."

Blade withdrew something from the cupboard and closed the doors. "An observant beast is very useful to me. _Very_ useful indeed." He held up his paw and something silver and scarlet flashed in the light of the lanterns.

Vera's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it.

Blade held her amulet up by it's chain. "Sometimes, perhaps, a beast can observe things being said or done by others. Others that perhaps trust her?"

Vera licked her lips as she watched the amulet twirl slowly. "I..."

Blade's voice continued, laden with promise. His eyes stared her down, dark behind the beautiful brilliance of the ruby. "If some beast were to, perhaps, overhear certain things being muttered within Dead Rock... I could see that beast being rewarded."

Vera thought of the scrap of cloth she'd given to Hylan yesterday. The message from Crue and the promise of the squirrel's plan.

"Rumors of mutiny and rebellion are on the wind, Miss Silvertooth. Have you heard them? Heard the whispers?"

Robert, whispering between her and Hylan about the secret tunnel in the slaves quarters and the plans for escape.

"I reward those who serve me faithfully, Miss Silvertooth." The amulet drifted closer, within paws reach.

Breathing hurt, as if a band had tightened itself around her chest. The red jewel filled her gaze. So close. Just a few words and she'd have it back.

She slowly raised a shaking paw towards her heart's desire. She opened her mouth. "Captain, there's..."

A memory of Hylan, his bag packed and at his side, surfaced. _"_ _You're the sharpest beast I know, Vera. So please, don't be an idiot while I'm gone. Promise me that?"_

Tears welled up in Vera's eyes and guilt lanced through her. She lowered her paw to her lap and closed her eyes. "There's nothing I can tell you. I haven't heard anything of interest."

Captain Blade sighed and his long coat rustled. "I was hoping you'd make this easy, Miss Silvertooth."

She started as the door behind her slammed. She opened her eyes and looked. She sat alone in Blade's office. Standing up, she hurried to the door, just in time to hear a click as a key was turned in place. She tried the handle anyway, but it refused to budge.

On the opposite side of the door, she heard Blade order, "Send for Torin."

Vera clasped paws over her mouth. Of all the beasts in Dead Rock, Torin scared her the most. Was Blade going to send her with Torin to be made into a slave?

 _I have to find a way out of here! A key or a secret door! There's got to be something!_

Vera hurried across the rug covered floor and a board creaked under her footpaw. She first went to the cupboard where Blade had kept her amulet. There was no sign of any key in there and given the absence of the amulet, Blade must have kept it with him.

 _Stupid!_ she told herself. _A ruby won't buy freedom. Damn thing was what got me into this whole pirate mess to begin with._

She examined the desk in the room.

Nothing.

She dug through the crate of books.

Nothing.

Blade didn't even leave anything resembling a weapon in the room.

She began pacing across the rug, out of places to look and out of ideas. The room was silent except for the soft tread of her paws, and the occasionally creak of the floorboards.

 _How stupid could I be. I should have made up something to tell Blade. I should had told him some lie about the plans. Or some lie about Ciera. I've lost my amulet for good and who knows what Blade will do to me now._

She stopped and a floorboard squeaked again.

 _Wait... this is a cave... Why is the floor creaking?_

She paced the area again, paying careful attention to the sounds. Then she got to her paws and knees and rolled back the rug, hoping against hope that maybe Blade had a secret exit from the room.

But the wooden door she uncovered was far too small for that. She opened it anyway, hoping instead for some keys or something.

There wasn't much in the small cubby she had found: a worn scarf, a bundle of letters, a fine gold chain, and a small battered book.

She rifled through the contents of the hidden hole and then picked up the book and paged through it. Drawings of some strange looking tubes and interesting mechanics filled the pages, though they made no sense to Vera. Then she stopped on one page that looked at least moderately familiar.

It looked like a recipe.

5 parts saltpeter  
1 part charcoal  
2/3 of 1 part sulfur

She repeated the recipe several times. "Sufur is what Blade has been mining all this time. I know what charcoal is, but what in the Fates is saltpeter? What does this make?"

Voices outside the door made her jump and she hastily replaced the book, closed the hidden door, and shoved the rug back over the space.

The lock clicked and the door swung open. A pair of armed sea rats hustled in and grabbed her before she could make a break for it. Blade and Torin the wildcat strolled in.

Torin the slavedriver, who'd threatened her on her first day in Dead Rock. The one who dealt out misery to the slaves in the sulfur mine. And the one, she now was certain, that had harmed Hylan so.

"...whatever she can tell you about Ciera Ancora's plans," Blade was saying.

"Anythin' else?" Torin said.

Blade glanced once at her. "I'd like t' know why she was in my treasure room, and if she took anything." He gave a shrug and turned to leave. "I'm sure there's something else she knows. Just get her talking. I have things t' do."

"Aye, Cap'n." Torin turned towards her with a grin. He had a set of manacles dangling from his paw. He pulled her paws behind her back and he snapped them about her wrists. She gagged as the smell of decay washed over her. "I can handle her from here," he told the rats. He placed a paw on her shoulder and Vera flinched as he dug his claws into her.

As he led her through the twists and turns in Dead Rock, she pleaded, "What does he mean about a treasure room? I never leave the kitchens except on my duties!"

Torin chuckled. "Vixen, Blade says th' smell o' fox were so strong, ye musta been rollin' in the treasure, an' yer the only one without a good alibi."

Vera realized that they were now in a corridor of Dead Rock where she'd never been before. "Where are you taking me?"

"My quarters. Cap'n Blade made sure I have extra room ta do his dirty work." They reached a door and Torin opened it. "Ye might not unnerstand the sophistication what goes inta a proper interrogation, but I'll be 'appy ta enlighten ye."

When the smell hit her, she choked on a scream and jerked back, attempting to flee. Torin's grip dug into her until blood began spotting the shoulder of her tunic.

"Get in there, vixen," he hissed and shoved her forward.

The door slammed and her world echoed with that crack. Vera fell to her knees. She blinked. She was a kit again, trapped in her family's home. The soldiers had slammed the door, leaving her alone. Her brother's body lying between her and the only exit. The blood... the smell that filled the room. Too terrified to move. Too terrified to cry.

Torin grabbed her again, jolting her back to the present. As he dragged her across the room, her eyes fell on the row of tails hanging in display on the wall. Hylan had tried to shield her from the squirrel's torture the day before, but she'd seen and heard enough... and it had never occurred to her in even her darkest dreams that the horrid beast kept them!

"Like me collection?" Torin laughed. "I think yers'll look particularly fine up thar."

Vera only managed a whimper in response as she was pulled past the tails and into a bedroom beyond. She saw a strange leather belt lying on the bed, as if it had been removed in haste. A sleek brown tail was clipped to the belt. For a brief instant, Vera thought it looked like Hylan's.

"Had an old hare in here a couple weeks ago," Torin said as he opened a narrow, cupboard-like door in the wall, revealing a set of stairs down into the darkness. He grabbed a lantern from a side table and descended, pulling Vera along with him. "Didn't have much o' value ta say, but Blade wanted an example made o' him. Takes real skill ta get a beast properly mutilated, yet still leave him able ta work."

Torin's lantern illuminated a room about the size of the bedroom they'd just left, though more spartan. A heavy wooden chair with a high back and multiple straps attached sat in the middle on a large dark colored square of cloth. The floor beyond the chair sloped slightly downwards towards some sort of drain. A table stood to her left, arrayed neatly with knives, hooks, and other wicked-looking implements. To her right was a large washbasin full of clean water and an unlit brazier full of coal.

Vera tried again to flee as the full realization hit her. "You can't do this to me!" she yelped. "I demand to speak to Captain Ancora. I'm a member of her crew!"

Torin set the lantern on the table and cuffed her roughly. "Hard ta do that, vixen, since Ancora set sail last night."

"What?" Lead settled into her stomach.

Torin grinned at her. "And that's one o' the things Cap'n Blade wants ta know all about."

"I... I... I... don't know a thing. Ciera hardly spoke to me after we got here. I didn't know she'd gone!"

"Then I wouldn't want ta be you." He laughed and forced her towards the chair. Vera screamed and shoved against him, but the wildcat seemed prepared for that. A punch to her stomach winded her and as she fought for breath, he wrestled her into the chair and got a strap around her upper right arm. Vera tried to headbutt him, but that attempt only left her dazed. He strapped in her other arm, just above the elbow. Vera pushed with her foot paws, but the chair hardly budged. She kicked instead, but Torin dodged as if he did this sort of thing all the time, then strapped her legs as well. He took a moment now to unchain her paws and force her wrists into straps on the arms of the chair.

He stepped back after that, breathing hard, but grinning all the same. "Ye do have some spirit then. Good. Here's how this'll play out." He strolled around her, checking all the straps to make sure they were secure. "I'm goin' ta ask ye some questions. Yer gonna answer. If ye refuse, or I think yer lyin'... there'll be pain."

She yipped as she felt his paws on her tail, drawing it through the slats on the chair. She shuddered and lurched in the chair as his paws lingered on it, stroking the fur smooth.

"Get away from me!" she screamed. "Don't touch me."

"This might become me new favorite," he purred. "Though, perhaps if ye cooperate, I'll let ye keep it fer now. Ye'll have to do a lot of convincin' ta change me mind." His paws moved from her tail up to her back and she flinched again as her apron tugged against her. Then his paws were on her shoulders and he lifted the string from around her neck. He strolled out in front of her again, looking over the green apron. "What a very useful article o' clothin'. I think I could make use o' this. I ruin far too many shirts." He dug into the front pockets, where there were nothing but a few crumbs that had slipped in during her work. When he found the hidden pocket, he pulled out the shells with Fildering's picture. He glanced over them curiously, and set them on the table.

"Now, what's this?" He gave the apron a shake.

A couple pieces of dried mushroom fell onto the floor.

Vera whined softly as he bent down and picked them up.

"Mushrooms?" He peered at the husks, then he looked up at her and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "So... it were the soup," he growled. "I thought somethin' were funny about it. I don' know how ye managed that, vixen, but ye'll regret it."

Vera licked dry lips. "I don't know what you're talking about. Fishlug makes the soup. He always makes the soup. He doesn't let me touch anything but the gruel for the slaves."

Torin slipped Vera's apron on and tied the strings behind him. "Now, I warned ye about lyin' a'ready." He stepped in front of the lantern, casting a shadow over her. He looked over his collection of tools on the table before selecting a narrow blade and coming back to her.

He knelt near her side and began trimming the claws on her left paw, one at a time, little by little. The _scrape scrape scrape_ of knife on nail made her fur stand on end. After he'd done each claw once, he went back to the first and trimmed some more. "I used ta be a Cap'n, ye know. Sailed under Blade. Then he gave me ship away and put me in charge o' the slaves and had me doin' interrogations. Wouldn't mind so much, 'cept there's no room fer risin' in the ranks. No chance o' promotions."

Vera yelped in pain as his blade reached the quick of one claw. "No, stop! Please! That hurts!"

Torin grinned and sliced a little deeper, drawing another yelp from her. He moved onto the next one, "It's supposed ta! Now tell me the truth. Did ye do somethin' ta me soup yesterday?"

As pain lanced through her paw, she sobbed. "Yes, yes, yes, I put the mushrooms in the soup. Just a pawful in the tureen after I dished it up. Chak was supposed to eat it too, but he didn't."

"Thought so," he said with a satisfied grin, and cut into another claw. "Now, tell me why ye poisoned me."

Vera bowed her head as her breath came in shuddering gasps. _I can't do this. I can't, I can't, I can't._ "I... don't know."

Torin sighed. "Typical. Ain't gonna be a smart one an' learn th' first time?"

"No, please, no! I... I..." She screamed as he cut in even deeper. "I have friends!"

Torin scraped the knife against her next claw slowly. "Is that a threat?"

She shook her head with a whimper.

"Ah, ye've got friends among the slaves?"

She nodded, hating herself for not being strong enough to resist.

"Give me their names."

Vera closed her eyes tight, tears streaming down her face. "No no no..." She screamed again as he started cutting. Blood slicked her paw and trickled down the arm of the chair. It spotted her apron that Torin wore, making dark stains on the green fabric.

After what felt like ages, she finally sobbed, "Robert! Hylan!"

"Hmm, them names ain't ringin' any bells. What type o' beasts be they?"

She shook her head, weeping. "Please, I can't... no more."

"Nay, ye liar. Ye just don't want ta tell me more." He examined her bleeding paw critically, his face in deep shadow. "I think I can get a little more offa this one. What do ye think?"

Up above, somebeast loudly knocked on the door to Torin's quarters. "Mister Torin! Mister Torin! Emergency, sir!"

"Fine time fer this... Hang on, I'm comin'!" Torin yelled. He stood up and wiped off the knife on the apron. He moved to the washbasin and gave his paws a quick rinse. "Ye think about how much more pain ye want, vixen. I want ta know who yer slave friends are, then we'll get started on Blade's questions."

Torin grabbed the lantern and headed up the stairs. "I'll be back. I'm lookin' for'd ta takin that pretty tail o' yers fer me collection."

He left Vera alone and in the dark, the only sounds being her sobs and the occasional soft drip of blood from her paw.


	73. Coda

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Coda**

 _By: Tooley_

* * *

A crack rang out as the door slammed, sending a tremor through Blade's office. One of the pictures upon the wall fell and struck the carpet with a muffled thud. Silence fell upon the room once more, but in Tooley's head, the little rat's words continued to ring.

Tooley tenderly traced a circle around the depression in his head. "Yer wrong..." he mumbled aloud, then winced.

She was right. He could never be as useful as she was. The mountain had changed Plink-made her useful. Special. She'd outgrown the weasel, because he was the idiot. Idiots had no place among gods and generals.

Tooley took several uneven steps forward, catching his paws against the edge of the great desk. He reached up and straightened a sconce that had toppled over, the candle having nearly set fire to several papers. Tooley gazed absently at the meaningless lines of ink, then reached a paw to draw a single sheet from the pile of loose papers.

It was a sketch of a masked beast draped in ornate robes. Tendrils of flames surrounded him, wisping out and enveloping various beasts of all species. Their paws were shackled, with chains reaching back up to the figure in the middle.

Tooley glanced up briefly to the ceiling carving above, and he could almost see where the drawing would fit in. His gaze flicked to the crimson and gold outfit in the corner of the office, then approached it. He ran a claw up the golden hem, stopping at the bottom of the Fire God's mask. It was a frightening, disturbing thing-a wax-stained skull of some large, sharp-fanged beast.

 _"Come dawn, she'll burn with the Fire God's blessin'."_

Tooley snarled, glaring at the empty sockets of the mask. The Fire God had caused so much pain to so many beasts, and all it took was a change of clothes.

Tooley's eyes suddenly widened. He stared curiously at the outfit, then looked down at the sketch. The Fire God was clearly drawn, but the face of the beast underneath the robes was obscured. It could have been Captain Blade. It could have been anyone.

Anyone could become the Fire God. Even an idiot.

Tooley snatched the bundle of cloth up immediately and slipped an arm through one wide sleeve. The weight of the robe upon his shoulders surprised him, and he bent down to heft up the other sleeve.

There was a click behind him, and the groaning of a door. Blade was back.

Tooley whirled around, only to find Rindclaw standing in front of the door. Tooley didn't dare move, so he just stared, bent over with an arm halfway through a sleeve. Rindclaw didn't even seem to notice him, however. He was staring down at something he was holding. It was a raggedy thing, made up of roughly-sewn patches and dozens of gnawed holes.

His hat.

Curiosity overcame his fear, and Tooley spoke up, "Mister Rindclaw...?"

The weasel remained silent for a moment, running a claw over the rim of the hat. Then, he drew in a breath and asked, "What was yore mother's name?"

Tooley frowned, perplexed. "Err... what?"

Rindclaw looked up, eyes uncharacteristically intense - almost bordering on desperate. "Her name!" He held out Tooley's hat, giving it a slight shake. "Please. Please try to remember. Was her name Knauma?"

Tooley furrowed his brow. Knauma? He ran a paw over his head, then froze as he brushed upon his stumped ear. Suddenly, there was a splash of images in his mind. Grassy riverbeds and sun-glinted streams. Black skies lit by the brilliance of a million stars. And a pair of eyes.

Those eyes gripped at him. Even through just a memory, they felt alive and more real than all the cold stone of the Dead Rock. They needed no words to speak of comfort. Of tender love. Of a home long forgotten. He wondered how he'd ever forgotten it in the first place.

"A-aye… I remem'er," he said softly, a smile creeping at the corner of his lips.

Then Blade's office returned once more, and the memory faded into the depths of mind once more. Tooley's chest suddenly ached at the absence of the memory.

Rindclaw stepped forward, slowly making his way to Tooley. Tooley tensed, aware once more that a member of Blade's crew was in the same room as him, and he was half-wearing the Fire God outfit. Rindclaw stopped in front of Tooley, the lifted a paw up and brushed a gentle claw over Tooley's stumped ear.

He looked down, and a smile parted his lips. "My son."

Tooley blinked. "Huh?"

Then Rindclaw crashed into Tooley, arms enveloping him in a tight hug. A cry broke from the older weasel, pitched with joy yet cracked with tears. Tooley stumbled back at the sudden weight, soon collapsing to his knees with Rindclaw still holding onto him.

Tooley stared ahead, wide-eyed. Son? Lad, chap, mate, pal, whelp... he'd been called everything, but never son. Not with the same honesty and joy with which Rindclaw declared it. Slowly, the pieces began to connect in his head, then his eyes widened even further.

"Y-yer me pa?"

Rindclaw held Tooley out at arm's length, a wide smile on his face despite the tears in his eyes. "I am. And you're my Delner. I thought I'd lost you. I looked everywhere, but somehow..." He shook his head, staring incredulously. "Somehow you found me."

Still stunned, Tooley just stared at the weasel. Then, slowly, he furrowed his brow in confusion. "But... why don' I remem'er ye, though?

Rindclaw's smile faltered, and for a fraction of a second, the weasel's eyes flicked up to Tooley's ear. "It... was a long time ago." He smiled harder and gave Tooley's shoulder a little shake. "And things have changed. We don't need t' worry about that now. We can be a family again, and..." His voice trailed off, and for the first time, he seemed to notice the Fire God's outfit. His gaze hardened. "What are you doin'?"

"I..." Tooley bit back an apology, and straightened up. "I'm doin' what I need t' do."

Confusion marked the weasel's face, then horror crept into his eyes. "No, no, what are y'thinkin?! Do y'know what kinda beast Blade is? What he'll do to you?"

"I don't care! Not when he's 'urtin me friends, and all those beasts in th' mountain! Someone's got t' do somethin'."

"But not you!" Rindclaw's grip tightened, and Tooley winced as claws dug into his skin. "Don't y'see? We don't have t' be involved with any of this! We could just be father an' son again. Let th' world deal with its own troubles."

Tooley pulled back from his father's grasp, brow furrowing. Rindclaw's eyes were focused, but more than that, Tooley saw something else in them-fear. And then, he realized, that in his own way, his father was as much a slave to Blade as the other beasts were; his shackles were just of a different sort.

Tooley shook his head, eyes softening. "I... I can't. There are some things ye can't ever ferget, even if ye try. Like the slaves. An' Crue. Beasts who don't deserve ter suffer an' die 'ere." He pulled out of his father's loose grip and stood up. "It ain't right, an' I ain't gonna stand by an' watch it 'appen." He slipped his arm through the other sleeve of the Fire God outfit. "Not while I can do somethin'."

Rindclaw stared up at him. "...how can you be so brave? If you go out there... you may not come back."

Tooley smiled sadly. "I'm scared, pa. I really am. But there are beasts more scared than me 'ere. Maybe... maybe they just need someone t' stand up fer 'em, an' then they'll stand up fer themselves."

Tooley turned away from his father, approaching the Fire God mask still resting upon its hanger. He lifted it up, then heard Rindclaw shuffle behind him. He turned to see that the weasel was on his feet, cradling Tooley's delicately in his paws. He stopped in front of Tooley, drew a deep breath, then held out the hat.

"You'll need this."

Tooley's brow raised in surprise, and he reached out a paw. As he brushed the rough patches of his hat, a familiar, comforting feeling washed over him. He moved to take it, then was drawn into a sudden hug by Rindclaw. He held the hug for a second, then drew back.

"Right," Rindclaw said, clearing his throat. "Let's get t' it, then."

Tooley gazed at him curiously as he flipped his cap up onto his head. "What?"

Rindclaw chuckled. "Y' didn't honestly think you could get past th' guards, did you?"

Tooley bit his lip. He had forgotten that detail.

Rindclaw took the Fire God mask from Tooley and fit it over his head. The skull's natural eye cavities were too far apart to see through, so Tooley had to look through a set of narrow slits that had been carved into the skull.

They walked to the doors leading out of the office, and Rindclaw gripped one of the handles.

"Y' remember th' way?" He reached up, tapping out a triangle formation on his head. "Down th' spiral stairs, through th' left forks, up th' torched tunnel."

Tooley smiled and nodded. "Thankee, Rindclaw."

"Make it count," Rindclaw said, then flung open the doorway and strode out.

Tooley followed behind him, heart pounding upon his chest. His eyes flicked to the two stoat guards flanking either side of the doorway. One hefted a large cudgel, while the other had Ciera's blade tucked in his belt. Tooley's gaze lingered on the blade as the stoat approached them, paw raised.

"What's all this, here? I thought Blade just left."

The two stoats stepped in front of them.

"Hang on," the cudgel-wielding stoat said, sticking out his snout and peering closely at Tooley. "You're not Blade!"

There was a crack of bone as Rindclaw slammed a fist into the stoat's chin. "Run!"

Tooley was running before the words left Rindclaw's mouth. He ducked in-between the guards, one paw lashing out and ripping free Ciera's blade from the stoat's belt. He darted into the tunnel, pausing as a yelp reached his ears.

He looked back to see that one of the guards had Rindclaw pinned down, while the other approached with a raised cudgel. He took a step towards Rindclaw, but stopped upon catching the weasel's urgent gaze.

" _Go!_ " Rindclaw shouted.

He hesitated, then gripped the hilt of his blade tighter and ran down the passageway. He blinked away tears as he ran, unable to outrun the sound of his father's cries.

* * *

Tooley didn't know how long he'd been running when he spotted pale light in the distance, beyond the gaping maw that was the Dead Rock's exit. The sound of drumbeats reached his ears, and he tensed. Out there was his friend Crue, and the Strange-Eyes that awaited their god to sentence the good-hearted beast to Hell.

Tooley reached inside his robes and rested a paw upon the hilt of Ciera's cutlass, tucked in his belt. Drawing a breath, he straightened himself and began walking.

Tooley chewed his lip as he saw a pair of guards stationed at either side of the exit, though their slumped postures and half-closed eyes gave Tooley some confidence. One of them caught sight of him approaching and straightened up quickly, hissing something at his companion who stirred with wide eyes.

"Y-Yer here early, captain!"

"Mongooses ain't started th' ritual quite yet," the other guard said in a more even tone. "May want to wait 'ere for 'em t' give the signal?"

Tooley ignored them and kept his pace even. The guards kept their eyes on him, but neither made a move to stop him. They muttered something in hushed tones as he passed, and he afforded himself a sigh.

His ears perked up. There was the sound of drumbeats, and on the wind there were voices.

"Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah!"

Images flashed through Tooley's mind of the night of the sacrifice. He shook them away and gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. He wouldn't let that happen. Not to Crue.

He was near now, and could see the shapes of beasts behind a raised, stone platform. Several beasts danced and squirmed to the beat of the drums, ululating strange words in a fevered pace. There was a beast chained to one of the pillars on the ground, and upon the stone platform there were two beasts. One was kneeling in the middle, both paws chained to pillars on either side. Tooley recognized the puffy tail and felt his breath catch. Crue.

The other beast on the platform was covered in extravagant robes and gesturing widely to the surrounding crowd. He kept declaring himself as "Shuga," though Tooley couldn't catch what else he said. Shuga glanced back and caught sight of Tooley, and he stopped his speech momentarily. He fumbled a paw inside his robes, then declared loudly,

"Beholt! The Fiyah Gott hes arrived!"

Shuga lifted the pouch over Crue, and Tooley saw sparkles of dust glimmer in the torchlight.

Suddenly, Crue was replaced by a hare. Screams rent the night air as flames ate flesh and bone.

"Stop!" Tooley shrieked. "Stoppit!"

All eyes rotated to Tooley as he sped off across the length of dead undergrowth that separated him and the platform. He nearly tripped several times upon the hem of his robe, so he hitched it up in his paws.

He arrived at the podium in a full sprint, leaping up the rock stairs two at a time. Shuga moved towards him, expression furious.

"Vet ees thees?" the priest demanded under his breath.

Tooley shoved the beast aside and ran to Crue. One look at the metal fetters around her paws told him he couldn't break them open. Her fur was covered in an ash-colored dust, and she mumbled urgently underneath a cloth tied around her mouth.

Tooley hopped around in front of her, then quickly untied the gag from her mouth. She stared at him, confused.

Tooley smiled brightly, lifting up the rim of his skull mask. "It's me, Miss Crue!"

Crue's jaw hung slack. After several tries she managed to sputter out a disbelieving, "T-Tooley?"

"Don' worry, I'll get ye outta 'ere!" Hearing the murmurs of the Strange-Eyes behind him, Tooley lowered his voice to a whisper, " We're all in this together, right?" He winked, then reset the mask over his head before walking out to the edge of the podium. After making sure he wouldn't trip over the edge, Tooley spread his arms out wide to the crowd. "Listen t' me now, mon... mungo... err, beasts o' the Fire God! This needs t' stop right now! I don' want any more sackerfices!"

A silence spread across the Strange-Eyes. An uncomfortable silence that Tooley wasn't expecting. No one moved. Weren't they supposed to obey the Fire God?

"Eempostah!" came a snarling voice from behind him. Tooley turned to see the High Priest trotting up to the opposite side of the podium, eyes fierce upon him. His paw twitched near an ornate dagger at his side, but made no move to draw it.

The High Priest turned to the crowd while leveling a jagged claw in Tooley's direction. "Do not leesin ta tis false gott! 'E ees a speerit fromah di darkness, an' hees lies would lead di monkoozers into di darkness vet heem!"

The crowd started to murmur. This was going wrong, quickly.

"But you said it was him!"

Tooley turned to look at Crue, who was staring daggers at Shuga.

"The Fire God has arrived, hasn't he?"

Shuga snarled at her, then another voice spoke up, "Ayah! Te Fiyah Gott ken no more change hees fur t'en we ken!"

Tooley looked to see it was the beast chained up to the pillar below the altar. A Strange-Eye, oddly enough, who had worked his jaw free from the cloth gag.

"We will hear te Fiyah Gott!" came a shout from the crowd, followed by a rumble of affirmations.

Shuga bristled. "Chk-ka! Dis eempostah is not te Fiyah Gott!" He turned to Tooley, sharp teeth bared dangerously. "Provah yourself or begone!"

A shocked gasp arose from the Strange-Eyes, followed quickly by hushed murmurs.

"Err... well..." Tooley started. He hadn't thought this far ahead, or realized it would be necessary. How did a Fire God even talk? "Err, I'm th' Fire God! I bow t' no beast, fer I be as... the roarin' waves o' th' sea!"

" _Fire_ God!" Crue hissed behind him.

"A... a sea o' fire!" Tooley amended quickly. "Fire like... like ain't never been seen!"

Tooley frowned. Fire. How could he be the Fire God without really knowing much about fire? A sudden memory flashed in his mind. He shut his eyes tightly.

 _No, anythin' but that._

Shuga clacked his tongue. "Dis gott knows fiyah like a fesh en watah." He withdrew two stones from his robes and held them to the sky. "Come ta us, Fiyah Gott! Show yourself an' breeng down dis eempostah!"

Shuga took a step towards Crue.

"Help!" Crue shouted at Tooley.

Shuga moved to strike the rocks when a paw latched around his arm and shoved him back away from Crue. Tooley stepped between him and Crue and lifted up his arms defensively.

"I'll tell ye what fire be," Tooley growled. "Fire's what 'aunts yer nightmares every night, but burns in yer mind like the 'arshest day. Ye try an' run, but it's all around ye!" His voice grew louder as he continued, "Fire's what turns th' mightiest o' ships t' dust, and their sails t' ash on the wind! Fire leaves ye 'omeless in an empty wasteland, where ye see yer mate gettin' killed afore yer eyes, an' ye can't do anythin'! Fire ruins the 'opes an' lives of any beast it wishes. It ain't never satisfied by water, 'cause it 'ungers fer blood. Th' blood o' all beasts, innocent an' guilty alike!"

Tooley's gaze hardened on Shuga, and in a lower tone he added, "An' if ye want Miss Crue, yer gonna have t' go through me."

A silence once more had fallen over the Strange-Eyes, but this time, Tooley didn't feel threatened by it.

The priest's lip twitched with a scowl, and he declared, "Den showah di monkoozers your fiyah!"

Tooley's arms fell slightly. He couldn't create fire. That much could never change. He reached a paw inside the crimson cloak-perhaps there was a small pouch of the fire powder like the High Priest had. His brief search turned up nothing, and his paw fell upon the hilt of his blade once more. Then, he blinked, an idea crossing his mind.

"I 'ave fire that cannot be seen!" Tooley announced as he stepped up to the High Priest, so that they were practically face to face.

"No sush ting exists," the priest grumbled.

"Be'old!" Tooley said, raising a paw dramatically in the air. "Inviserble fire!"

The priest watched his raised paw carefully. He didn't even notice Tooley moving his other paw beneath the layers of robe. He gripped the hilt of his cutlass, cut the bare blade free from his belt, then positioned it over the priest's exposed footpaw.

Shuga suddenly erupted in a howl, leaping back from Tooley. He clutched at his now-bleeding footpaw, hopping about his other foot several steps before losing his balance and crashing to the podium.

A gasp arose from the mongooses.

"Ayah!" shouted the Strange-Eye bound to the pillar. "He hes struck Shuga wit' unseen fiyah! Eet es Fiyah Gott!"

"No!" The High Priest squealed through his cries of pain. "He ees a fake!"

The Strange-Eyes paid Shuga no attention, leaving him thrashing about with a pitiful, snarling sound.

Tooley turned to Crue and smiled brightly. "It's workin'!" he said.

Finally, it was working. Everything was going to be all right.

There was a shout from behind, and a paw wrapped around his neck. Then something sharp jabbed into his chest.

Crue screamed.

There was movement at his periphery, but his vision had suddenly grown blurry. There were shouts, then Tooley felt the paw around his neck being pried away, and the odd, probing feeling left his chest. He took a staggering step back. Shuga was held back by several mongooses, and a bloody dagger lay at his feet. Crue thrashed against her chains and shouted something.

"I'm a'right," Tooley said as he moved to take a step towards her.

Something was wrong-the world was growing heavy, and his legs didn't feel right. He glanced down, pausing at the brilliant crimson of the Fire God's cloak. There was a gash in the cloak near his heart, and the red fabric was wet.

He blinked at it curiously, then he felt himself falling. He hit the ground on his side, and the Fire God's mask jostled loose from his head, toppling over across the stone platform.

"Tooley!"

A pair of paws gripped his shoulder and pulled him onto his back. Crue was beside him, her tear-filled eyes scanning him furiously as she worked to free the sash at her waist. She pressed the cloth down over his heart, and he noticed that her paws were trembling. She snapped out an order, and Tooley soon felt a pair of paws gingerly lift up his head.

"Talk, Tooley," Crue said through shuddered breaths. "I need you to talk to me."

Tooley glanced around him. Many of the mongooses had climbed onto the podium, their eyes flicking from the discarded skull mask and the simple-faced weasel in front of them.

"Miss Crue," Tooley whispered, casting a glance at the hollow skull mask in the dirt, "we did it."

"What?" Crue's eyes flicked up briefly from the blood-soaked cloth. "Did what?"

Tooley smiled up at the squirrel. "Th' Fire God. 'E's dead. 'E ain't gonna 'urt anymore beasts now."

For a good moment, Crue didn't respond. She blinked away fresh tears, but her gaze remained on the bloody sash. "Yes," she whispered, "you're right. The Fire God is gone. But I need you to stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?"

Tooley stared at the cloth pressed against his chest, which had turned completely red. Blood oozed out and trailed down his side. A pool had begun to form on the stone below.

Rindclaw had been right-he wouldn't be coming back from this. One more sacrifice had been required to bring an end to all others; that of the Fire God himself.

Tooley shifted, reaching up a paw. His arm was oddly heavy, and he grasped his hat with shaking paws. "Miss Crue," he said, holding out his hat to the squirrel, "promise me ye'll remem'er."

Crue froze, staring at the hat. Her brow twitched with various emotions. "Remember what?"

"Remem'er what Blade did. Remem'er th' slaves, an' the good beasts in there. They deserve a good 'ome an' good friends jus' like th' rest o' us."

Bloody, trembling paws wrapped around Tooley's hat. Black was starting to dot his vision, and he felt his paw falling from the patches of his hat.

"I... I promise," Crue said.

Tooley gripped the edge of his hat before it fell from his grasp. "An' please," he said weakly, "remem'er me."

Then he let go.


	74. Law of the Harvest

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Law of the Harvest**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

The squirrel's eyes were tired and sunken, though he lay curled and still on the stone. Reedox refused to budge, despite Robert and Hylan's coaxing, even when breakfast arrived. Chak paced with a frown, wishing for even a hint of the old Reedox's spit and vinegar. Today was the day, after all. He couldn't give up now.

The cooks serving the gruel were unfamiliar, and Hylan and Robert whispered urgently to each other, casting glares at the scowling rat and whistling stoat. Chak didn't mind the whistling, as it seemed to lighten the mood like one of Minstrel's old ditties. He thought of the mouse who had always made things seem better than they were. If Nimbleton were still around, he would know how to inspire Reedox.

Then again, if Nimbleton were around, Reedox would probably still have a tail. Chak suddenly felt very alone, and very inadequate.

The rat cook shouted irritably at the stoat, "Was yer mother a canary, Surly? Stop twitterin' an' pay attention ta what yer doin'!"

The stoat shrugged, growing silent, and continued pouring gruel at a plodding pace.

Chak remembered then that it was the friendly Vera who was missing. The grizzled slavedriver approached the rat, who was slopping gruel haphazardly across several slave bowls at once, splattering the floor.

"Ain't thar usually a vixen wi' ye, mate?"

The rat shot the otter a glower. "Aye, that turncoat wench be leavin' us high an' dry – an' the weasel too!"

"She left?" Chak could hardly believe it was that easy.

"No, but I bet she wishes she had! Blade be havin' a word with her, if ye know what I mean…" His brow rose.

Chak didn't know, but he could imagine. The rat helped the stoat finish feeding the iron mine slaves and tossed his ladle into the pot with a clang.

"Be seein' ye." They shoved the empty gruel pot back up the tunnel toward the kitchen.

"'ope not," Chak muttered under his breath as the squeaking wheels faded into the distance.

The bars rattled and Chak turned to find Hylan there, gripping the iron with trembling paws. "Something's gone wrong!" he hissed. "Something's happened to her! Let me out – I have to find her!" His voice grew in volume. Chak gave the pine marten a dubious look.

Robert came up beside his fellow prisoner and jerked a nod in his direction, "Hylan an' Vera go way back. She knew 'im before he was a slave. Vera's our real connection to Crue. If she's missin' we've got a problem."

Chak nodded. "Aye, I know Vera. She were on the Silver Maiden wi' me." He leaned in toward the pine marten, brow knitting. "Hylan. What d'ye think yer gonna do – run all the way ta Blade's quarters an' demand 'e release 'er? D'ye even think ye'll make it 'alfway? Look at yerself, mate. Thar's no way any pirate'll be lettin' ye waltz by unopposed."

Robert patted Hylan on the back. "We don't know what's happened, friend. All they may have are suspicions. Certainly if'n they actually knew anythin,' Chak wouldn' still be here. So until we hear one way or another, we should stick to the plan. Wait for Crue. Assume the best. We've a lot o' beasts relyin' on us to get them outta here today, and we cain't let 'em down."

Hylan nodded absently, gnawing his lip and looking out across the tunnels.

"Vera be a clever fox," Chak added. "She's careful. If she be under scrutiny an' tryin' ta prove 'er loyalty, the last thing she might want is fer a three-brand slave ta come chargin' up ta Blade, shoutin' 'er name, ye fath'm?"

Hylan slumped. Chak moved to unlock the cell door and start lining the slaves up. Robert gave Hylan one last pat on the back and headed over to Reedox, who still hadn't moved. He squatted next to the squirrel and spoke softly to him until they were the only ones left. Finally Robert stood and stepped out of the cell, shaking his head.

"Did ye tell 'im taday be the day?" Chak muttered under his breath, eyes darting guiltily toward the place where the squirrel lay.

"Aye," Robert sighed. "He don't seem to care. He says he wants to die. 'Just tell them to kill me,' he said."

Chak's face twitched and he blinked rapidly. "Bloody 'ell." He sighed, grinding his fangs together, imagining various dark scenarios. Finally he pursed his lips and closed the barred door, locking it securely. "We'll come back fer 'im later. I think 'e'll be a'right as long as Torin don' find out."

Robert nodded and they joined the rest of the slaves marching up to the sulfur mine.

* * *

The morning stretched long as the wagons came and went, came and went. The slaves worked hard, yet their eyes searched the rim continually. Chak wasn't sure what to look for himself, but hour after hour no messengers came, and the otter began to pace.

Down in the mine another slave fell and didn't get up, rasping for breath through bloodied nose and mouth. It was a mole. Chak carried her limp form out of the crater and set her down against the wall near the fire pit. He gave her some water and wiped the sulfur from her fur. She squinted up at him through red-rimmed eyes.

"Burr oim zorry zir," she gasped. "Oi jus' cain't do it no more." She launched into another coughing fit, struggling to catch her breath.

"Be ye 'avin' a name?" Chak tried, recognizing the familiar, wheezing death knell.

It took several minutes before she was able rasp out an answer.

"Tildy Loamara," she managed between deep, painful gasps.

Chak nodded. "A'right, Tildy. Ye rest easy 'ere. We'll get ye out an' breathin' clean ocean air soon enough." He patted her pink, shovel-like paw. "Just 'ang in thar." He stood and looked over his shoulder, making sure Torin was nowhere in sight, then headed down into the mine. If today was to be the day of their escape, there was no need for any more to have to die.

He walked among the slaves, looking for those who appeared to be struggling the most. A shirtless sea rat labored in one corner, punching his pole at a yellow deposit and Chak could hear him wheezing loudly.

"Ahoy thar, matey." The rat spun around, looking apprehensive, but Chak held no whip in his paw today. Blood weeped from the rat's exposed nostrils and a brand marked his forehead like Reedox. "Whar be yer kerchief?" Chak gestured. "Ye shouldn' be workin' wi'out one, chum."

"Someone stole it," the sea rat replied, leaning against the pole as he spoke. "A week ago," he added with an edge of resentment, turning back to jam the pole into the sulfur once more.

Chak frowned. They needed the slaves to be united today. They would all need to work together. After a moment, the slave driver pulled his own scarf off and handed it to the rat. The slave paused, gaping, then accepted the scarf with a hesitant paw.

"'Old onta that one." Chak jutted his chin at the scarf. "Ye shouldn't need it fer much longer." The rat nodded readily then stared at the gift, swallowing hard.

It felt good. He actually felt _good_ as he walked away, despite the air burning his nostrils and throat. Was this how Robert felt all the time? Chak moved methodically through the mine, picking out the worst-looking beasts and bringing them up to join Tildy, where the air was cleaner. Most of them were those leftover from Torin's plantation batch, but there were a few others too, who had been working without scarves or had suffered sprained ankles or festering wounds. All sighed with relief when they found they were being given rest rather than punishment.

The next time Hylan dumped his baskets into the wagon, he approached the sea otter, glancing at the resting beasts.

"Just so you know, some of the others are grumbling about having to make up for the missing workers, Chak. I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help, but it does make a difference, having them there – even if they aren't very fast." Chak looked over the group of panting beasts, some of whom were already asleep with exhaustion. He couldn't send them back now. Not after he had promised them respite.

"A'right." Chak nodded, then took the red sash from his waist and tied it over his muzzle. He followed the pine marten back down into the mine, snatching up a pole along the way.

* * *

About an hour before noon a mouse hurried over to Chak who was chopping at a big deposit of sulfur, breaking off chunks for others to collect.

"Torin's here! He's here right now and he's lookin' for you!"

Chak froze, mid-jab and threw down the pole, grabbing at his whip to free it from his belt. He cracked it a few times in the air and shouted at nobeast in particular, "Get yer lazy tails movin' er ye'll be next!" He strode out of the mine and spotted Torin up top at the crater edge. The wildcat whistled down at Chak to get his attention and motioned to him urgently. Chak headed up the path, cracking his whip at the sulfur-toting slaves all along the way. The slaves cringed and shrank away as before.

Finally he reached the wildcat who took in the fine dusting of yellow powder coating his sweat-slicked fur and frowned.

"What happened ta _ye_ , mate? Ever'thin' okay?"

Chak snorted and lifted the edge of the scarlet sash to spit. "Doin' a round-up in the mine. Crackin' down on them who ain't pullin' their weight today." He nodded at the group of frightened beasts huddled beside the firepit. Torin growled, narrowing his eyes at the slaves.

"What's up wi' ye?" Chak jutted his chin towards the green apron Torin wore. "Bakin' a pie?" He grinned and the wildcat yanked the apron off quickly, stuffing it into the wagon and clearing his throat.

"Thar be an emergency, mate." He kept his voice low. "Ye won't believe it, but we're under attack. Mongoose tribe's gone berserk. Blade's ordered a lock-down so we need ta round up the slaves straightaway an' get 'em back ta their quarters soon as possible."

Chak nodded soberly, though inwardly his heart leapt with triumph.

"'Ow're we gonna explain this ta the slaves? If they suspect…" Chak let the thought hang.

"We'll tell 'em they're shuttin' down the sulfur mine, an' they're ta be sorted an' reassigned ta new positions elsewhar. They'll be so happy ta be outta this hole there'll be no room fer mutinous thoughts."

Chak grunted and gave an approving nod. "Let's gather 'em at the stone platform then."

"Aye. Good thinkin' mate. I'll ring the bell an' direct 'em an' ye can do a final sweep. Don' want no stragglers holdin' us up…"

"Yarrrr." Chak agreed and headed back down to the mine, pulse racing. The break bell rang loudly behind him, and he broke into a jog. He had to find Robert and Hylan quickly. Once in the crater, it didn't take long for the otter to locate the two beasts, who were already on the alert.

"What's goin' on?" Robert glanced up at the crater edge where the other slaves were beginning to gather.

Chak whipped off his scarf, revealing a big, yellow-toothed grin. "She did it, mates. Crue came through! Thar be a regular mongoose riot out thar from the sound o' things. Torin be 'ere ta 'elp get everyone back down ta the slave quarters an' locked up afore they get any mutinous ideas."

"Oh now, we wouldn't want _that_." Hylan smiled slyly.

Robert gripped Chak and Hylan both by a shoulder and gave them a congratulatory shake. "This is it, mates. As of this moment, we are our own beasts. Slaves no more."

Chak nodded. "Aye. Though I'd like ta wait til everyone be gathered up top. Torin be plannin' some lie ta tell 'em all, but we can make our announcement then when everyone be in one place. If ye both can join me on the stone platform, we can get the jump on Torin an' take 'is weapons away afore 'e knows what's what."

Hylan let out a whoop at the prospect and Robert nodded grimly.

"Now 'elp me check an' make sure no one be left be'ind down 'ere." The three beasts split up, clearing the mine quickly of stragglers, then met up top again, heading for the stone platform where Torin had amputated Reedox's tail the day before. Torin was already making his announcement about the mine being closed as Chak stalked up the stone steps and stood beside him, arms crossed.

An excited murmur stirred the crowd, though whether they believed the wildcat or not, Chak was unsure. Most were aware that a revolt was planned, but there was an eagerness among such suffering beasts to believe good news such as Torin was offering.

"So what we're gonna do is take ye back ta yer quarters whar ye'll be sorted an' reassigned accordin' ta yer strengths an' experience," Torin reassured, then turned as Hylan and Robert climbed up onto the stage from opposite corners. They halted as Torin reached for his bludgeon. Chak pulled his as well.

"Well if it ain't Grovelhog an' Dandy. Lookin' ta lose an eye now, air ye, Dander?" Torin's gaze shifted from marten to hedgehog, squaring off carefully. "If ye think yer gonna inspire some sorta action outta this crowd, I think ye'll be sorely disappointed. They be movin' on now. Movin' up. They got no need fer desperate measures like you cause it's over. The mine's shuttin' down. Why should they risk their lives when thar be a way out what don' involve dyin'?" He spoke loudly for all to hear.

Chak took a step back, positioning himself more behind than beside the wildcat.

"Grovelhog, I be disappointed in ye," Torin continued. "Thought ye were smart. 'Ow far d'ye think ye'll get, even if yer able ta escape? Think about it. Yer in a mountain, surrounded by pirates, on an island in the middle o' nowhar. Whar ye gonna go? Ta the blood-thirsty natives what'll skin ye alive an' feast on yer carcass? Er do ye plan on rowin' out onta the ocean in a rowboat an' slowly dyin' o' thirst er gettin' drowned in a storm? Thar _ain't a way out_ an' yer fools ta think ye could take two slavemasters at once wi' yer bare paws." Torin leaned back toward Chak, muttering under his breath, "On the count o' three, mate. We'll brain the wretches."

Chak grunted. "I got yer back."

"One, two, threeoowwwwww!"

Chak's club landed heavily across the wildcat's back and he dropped to his knees. Chak's second swing cracked the paw that held the cudgel and the third rammed hard into Torin's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He curled on the ground gaping for air, wide-eyed and disbelieving as Hylan and Robert rushed in, seizing the short whip and bludgeon. Chak pulled a pair of manacles from his belt that he'd snatched from one of Torin's stockpiles and pulled the cat's paws roughly behind his back, locking them together. The three searched Torin more closely then, removing a dagger, his keys, and a small satchel which turned out to contain an assortment of tiny manicuring instruments. They handed the items out like candy to the crowd, then Robert stepped forward, raising his paws for everyone's attention.

"Everybeast! Now's our time! We have friend's on the outside, riskin 'their lives for our freedom! Now's when we join 'em! Reach inside for that fightin' spirit I know you have! You all have it, I've seen it! We can fight these villains, an' we can win!" The crowd of slaves shouted agreement. "We got the one thing they don't, an' that's nothin'! We got nothin' to lose, friends, an' there ain't nothin' stronger an' scarier in this world than a beast with nothin' to lose! Now let's show 'em!"

Torin lurched to his feet, snarling, fur raised. He spat at Chak. "Ye back-stabbin' _traitor_! I _trusted_ you!" His roar broke and tears actually fell from his slit-pupiled eyes. He shook and panted openly, eyes darting as the slaves below passed his weapons around with glee. Chak felt only a mild twitch of guilt, which dispelled quickly when he looked down at the spatters of Reedox's sticky blood.

"Yer a twisted, sick bastard, Torin. Ye've made a lot o' enemies with yer mutilations an' treatin' beasts' lives like rubbish. Far be it from me ta deny them the justice they be seekin'." He lifted his footpaw and kicked the wildcat backwards, sending him tumbling into the crowd below.

At first there were gasps and a space opened up around the notorious slave master as he struggled to his feet, paws still bound. Then a yellow-striped rock struck him across the face with a hollow _thock._ Torin blinked, surprised at the pain.

One by one, beasts began grabbing up chunks of discolored sulfur, hurling them with all their might, their faces twisted with rage. Torin shrank at the onslaught, ducking his head. Chak watched grimly, wincing every now and then. Torin roared and raved, then pled and howled. Hylan joined the throng, but Robert remained at Chak's side.

"Farmers back at Fern Valley have a sayin'," the hedgehog murmured. "'Whatever you plant is what you'll harvest.'" He paused, swallowing, then continued, "Torin's had this comin' a long time, plantin' lots o' bad seeds… but that don't make it any easier ta watch." Robert flinched as another crack rent the air and Torin screamed. "The hate in these beasts' eyes…" He looked at Chak. "It scares me."

The sea otter glanced at his friend, then shook his head. "It be grief as much as it be hate. Be glad ye don' unnerstand it, mate."

Soon enough the wildcat was silent, though the slaves kept pummeling his bloody body.

"We need ta move. Thar ain't a lot o' time."

"Right." Robert leapt down and grabbed hold of Hylan who still had a crazed look in his eye. The hedgehog's words seemed to calm the marten and he whistled, organizing the slaves once again. They pulled the sulfur wagon over and dumped its contents over Torin's body to keep any alarms from being raised before they had time to escape.

Now that the threat of Torin had passed, Chak surveyed the slaves milling around him, spotting several that limped and a couple bent over, hacking and wheezing. He was surprised to find Tildy the mole still alive, laying off to one side, and he walked over, lifting her into his arms again. Another slave collapsed a few feet away and Chak felt a surge of frustration. Getting everyone out of the mountain was going to be a challenge. He eyed the empty wagon.

Robert approached as Chak was helping one of the weaker slaves with a bandaged foot into the wagon to join a half dozen others.

"Good thinkin', matey."

"Ye mentioned thar's a secret escape tunnel, Rob?" Chak retied the red sash around his waist and gripped the handles of the wagon experimentally.

"Aye – in the slave quarters."

"Grand. That's right whar they expect us ta be 'eaded. An' we won' 'ave ta make an extra trip fer Reedox then either." He rocked the wagon back and forth, then started forward, bumping and stalling amidst all the rocks and sulfur scattered around, but soon his path cleared and he marched purposefully toward the tunnel leading down into the mountain.

"I'm headed out. Tell the others they can stay er they can join us, but we're gettin' off this damn island. One way er another."

Robert and Hylan rallied the rest of the sulfur miners and directed them at the departing slave driver.

"Follow the wagon, mates!"


	75. No More

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **No More**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

Crue held Tooley's hat in her blood-stained paws as she looked down at her friend. His eyes still looked in her direction, but they were vacant and dull, frozen in place by muscles that had ceased all motion. He had the faint hint of a smile on his lips, but the image was spoiled by the trail of red that ran down his cheek and toward the ground. His body was still warm, but it would only be a matter of time before the lack of a pulse rendered him cold and stiff.

She'd seen beasts die, and she'd accepted that as part of her profession. She'd lost loved ones to disease and old age; upsetting, but still a natural part of life. No reason existed for why she had to watch this one, this gentle soul, be snatched away from the world. He didn't deserve this! He was just trying to do what was right, and now he lay on the cold ground, punished for his loyalty, his idealism, and his kindness.

She tore her eyes away from Tooley and turned her head to look at the High Priest. Shuga was on his knees, one of Laika's arms around his neck and her other paw holding his own knife to his gut. Shuga's eyes were nearly as dead as Tooley's, his ten-season reign over the mongooses ended by a single simple weasel.

Crue's tears ceased as her vision grew tinged with red. Her lip curled up in a snarl at the sight of Shuga and a growl formed in her throat. Dropping Tooley's hat, she leapt up and began to run toward the High Priest as she screamed out, _"_ _I'LL KILL YOU!"_

She covered the short distance between her friend's corpse and her target. Claws outstretched, she aimed for his face. Shuga's eyes went wide with fear, affording Crue a measure of satisfaction before somebeast grasped her left arm and pulled her back. Her momentum spun her around and she reached out to attack the one who had stopped her, but Dekeft took hold of her other arm.

"Crue, you must stop, ayah!" he shouted.

"Let… me… go!" She struggled to pull herself free.

"Shuga es not yours to keel, Crue!"

Crue stopped struggling and stared at Dekeft. She took a moment to register his words and half a moment to deny them. She had every right to kill him! "I-"

"Leesten, Crue! You are healer, not hunter! It is not for you to keel anot'er." Before she could protest, he continued, "Shuga hes deceived monkoozers for ten seasons! Monkoozers will punish him for t'is."

She stopped struggling and Dekeft released her. Still vengeful, she demanded, "And just how do you intend to _punish_ him?"

Dekeft looked at his wife, who smiled wickedly and nodded. He turned to the crowd of mongooses around him and their faces showed that they would agree with his decision. He looked back at Crue and declared, "He will die, but quick death will mean not'ing. He play Priest for long time. His punishment will take _long_ time, ayah!"

Crue looked at Dekeft, then to Shuga, who hung his head in defeat. Looking back at Dekeft, she nodded. "That sounds fair."

She went back to pick up Tooley's hat, her anger fading until she looked up and saw the entryway into the mountain. Shuga may have been defeated, but much still remained to be done. "Dekeft, will your people follow me into the mountain? I still need to rescue my friends and see that Blade pays for what he's done."

All eyes turned to him and he stood up straighter, every bit the First Atilak. Speaking loud enough for everyone to hear, he declared, "You have freed our people from t'e false gott ef t'e mountain. We will help you free your people en' kill t'e Fiyah Gott!"

Crue saw each head turn in her direction. Suddenly the focus of their rapt attention, she knew that now was the time to rise to the occasion. She raised her arms in the air and lifted her voice so all could hear, "Your Fire God, Captain Blade, is in this mountain! We have captured his priest, but Blade still lives and breathes. Will you help me stop him?" Mongooses shouted out in agreement, raising their fists toward the sky. "His followers are many and will fight to the death."

"T'e are no match for monkoozers!" one of the mongooses shouted. Other voices rose in agreement.

Before their enthusiasm could drown her out, she continued, "Yes, but they have their own weapons and some are good fighters. It will not be an easy battle, but I have faith in the mongoose tribe! Your hunters are strong and swift and together we will will reclaim the mountain!"

Cheers erupted, the volume increasing as row upon row joined in. Ramped up earlier in the day by Shuga's rush to the sacrifice, Crue's voice no longer reached their ears. She couldn't let them run in with a crucial part of her plan missing. "Please, listen!"

 _"_ _Ey'cha!"_ Laika bellowed, her voice carrying over the crowd. They quieted and returned their attention to Crue.

"Not only must Blade and his followers be stopped, but those who were once sacrifices must be rescued. The Hellgates are not in this mountain! Those sacrifices are alive, but many will be sick and injured."

"How will we know who are t'e followers ef t'e Fi…. ef Blade?" Dekeft asked.

Fortunately, Crue had spent over a week pondering some of the details of the upcoming assault. "All of the pirates will be wearing sashes like the one I wore around my waist. If a beast is _not_ wearing a sash, they are a friend." Her heartache almost prevented her from adding one more detail, but having rehearsed it so many times in the past, she couldn't bring herself to hold the words back. "If any beast surrenders, take them prisoner."

The mongooses nodded, passing on this information to those who were further back in the crowd. "Most of you will hunt for Blade and his followers, but I am looking for the sacrifices. I can not find them alone."

Dekeft spoke up, "I will keep you safe, ayah! Twenty will come wit' me."

Crue nodded. With any luck they might actually be able to rescue Rob and the other slaves. "We must go now, but please, be careful!"

Dekeft gave last minute instructions regarding Shuga's care, and sent a small group back to the village to defend against possible retaliation. A few more were given the charge of preparing funeral rites for Tooley. A lump formed in Crue's throat as she watched them carry him away. She squeezed her friend's hat, wishing she didn't have to leave him, but those trapped in the mountain were relying on her and she returned her attention to the mountain. She turned away and put the hat into one of her pockets, burying the feelings of loss and heartache she had no time to deal with.

A growl in Laika's throat rose in volume until her voice cut once more through the morning air, " _We hunt!_ "

As soon as the sound of her cry faded, the mongooses rushed up the path toward the entrance to Dead Rock, their steps quiet. A tunnel led into the mountain and a door kept the entryway secure, but today the door was unlocked, the guards likely waiting for the Fire God to return. Crue, further back with her honor guard, watched Laika shove the door open and run in. The mongoose army surged forward, and while Crue expected to hear war cries and the clash of steel upon steel, she found the beginning of the battle to be oddly quiet.

Inside the atrium, every sash-wearing pirate lay dead on the floor. Mongooses were pulling knives and spears from the corpses when Crue entered. She found Laika and watched as the Second Atilak silently instructed the horde, who split off into three groups and ran into the tunnels. Laika looked back in her husband's direction before she ran off, leading a fourth group into the mountain.

"Which way?" Dekeft asked Crue.

She pointed toward the tunnel she'd taken before when she came with Shuga to visit Blade, one that another group had gone through as well. "This way."

Dekeft ran in first, knife in paw and eyes alert. Whenever they came to a fork, Crue would point in a direction she thought might head toward the far side of the mountain, but she wished she were more certain. She spotted the corpses of dozens of slain pirates, their throats cut or their necks broken or their skulls bleeding from blunt-force trauma. A few dead mongooses were mixed in among the bodies, their bodies to be retrieved later.

Crue was taking in the sight of a old weasel, alive but gagged and tied securely with his own sash, when a pain-fueled scream tore through the tunnel ahead of her. She did not know where exactly it came from, but she did know what it meant. "Blade knows we're here. We have to hurry!"

Dekeft nodded and the pace increased, Crue having to push herself to keep up amidst growing fatigue. She assured herself that she would recuperate when the rest of her friends were safe.

As they turned a corner, their group came across a band of six beasts in red sashes. Dekeft rushed forward and dug his claws into the soft flesh of a ferret's throat before knocking the pirate to the ground. Another mongoose ran up and aimed his knife at a weasel's throat. The weasel brought his arm up quickly and pulled out his short sword with his other paw, determined to survive as long as possible.

The narrow tunnel forced the mongooses to engage just two at a time, and the pirates' need to survive lent them strength. Despite outnumbering the pirates, they temporarily fought on even footing.

"Spear!" Dekeft called for and one was put in his outstretched paw. He took a small step as if to lunge at his closest opponent, but when the gray cat took a step back, Dekeft instead jumped and launched the spear over the cat's head at a rat attempting to run from the battle. Crue watched as the gray cat's sword rose toward Dekeft, who managed to deflect it just in time to avoid being gutted. He pressed forward and sliced a long gash in the cat's belly. As the pirate fell, a well-muscled ferret filled the gap.

"Watch out!" Crue cried out in alarm. The ferret struck out with his mace, the spiked ball at the end of the chain catching Dekeft in his left arm.

One of the other mongooses pulled their leader back, taking his place. Crue rushed forward as the battle continued with two remaining pirates, who were quickly dispatched. Dekeft's arm bled from a long gash and Crue looked around for a bandage. When her eyes fell on the slain pirates, she ordered, "Get me their sashes."

The mongooses worked quickly and Crue selected the cleanest one before wrapping it tightly around Dekeft's arm. "I thought you were going to be careful."

"I em always keerful," he replied proudly, "but t'e strong prey hes t'e sharpest fangs."

"Spare me your adages, Dekeft." She looked at the other mongooses who were relieving the corpses of their weapons, and then looked back at their leader. "Grab all the weapons; we can arm the slaves to help us when we find them."

Dekeft agreed, and as they continued up the tunnels, Crue saw them reach down and replace their stone weapons with iron and steel. The group continued up the tunnels, now taking paths that no other mongooses had taken. Crue kept an eye out for an infirmary where she could cobble together a useable medical kit, but she saw nothing of the sort. They did, however, continue to find pirates, more of them flooding the tunnels with every passing minute. Crue was surprised to see that even before engaging in battle, the pirates did not look well; their eyes dull, sweat glistening on their fur, and their movements sluggish.

After a surprisingly quick engagement against a dozen pirates, Crue lifted her nose to the air and sniffed. "Wait," she told the mongooses who were ready to move on. "There's something…"

The other mongooses sniffed the air as well, some of them wrinkling their noses in displeasure. She led them further down the path, careful to watch for an attack. "We keep going this way!"

"How do you know this is the right way?"

"It's that bad smell in the air. I can smell the sulfur that the slaves are mining, and if we follow it, there's a good chance it will take us right to them."

With a clearer direction, they carried on. More pirates clogged the tunnels, and despite their dismal state of health, they were armed and prepared to defend their lair. Leading their group around one corner, a mongoose named Teppa let out a howl of pain as an arrow struck him in the belly. As one of his comrades pulled him back out of harm's way, two more mongooses rushed ahead, spears at the ready. As Crue rushed to Teppa's side, she heard more screams come from the pirates and the mongooses as spears and arrows flew through the air.

The healer looked down at Teppa's injury. She was positive that the arrow had pierced several major organs, and she could do nothing for him here. She wadded up one of the sashes and put it under his head, giving him the only comfort she could.

"I die?" Teppa asked. When Crue nodded, he took a shaky breath. "It was good hunt."

Crue discarded a number of platitudes that sprang to mind. Instead, she stood and stated, "Thank you, Teppa."

Dekeft came back for her, nodding consolingly at the fallen hunter, before the two of them turned away. As Crue passed two other fallen mongooses, she wished that it wasn't taking them so long to get where they needed to go. By this point, they'd spent at least an hour traveling through the mountain, and numbed by the tedium of a drawn-out battle, she wondered what was happening to the slaves by this point. Had they been left toiling in the mines? Had they been locked up? Had they been executed to prevent an uprising?

As she explored possible contingencies regarding what to do with the slaves if they were rescued, the mongooses halted at an intersection. Crue looked up, wondering why they'd stopped. Stepping closer to the front, she asked, "What is it?"

"Beasts come, ayah," Dekeft whispered. "Many en noisy."

"Are they pirates?"

"T'ey come down tunnel. Not see t'em yeet."

Dekeft placed his hunters near the entryway, ready to strike when the enemy drew close. Crue heard the voices of several beasts, but they were just quiet enough that it was difficult to make out what they were discussing. The voices drew closer.

She began to step forward toward the tunnel, but a paw held her back. She looked back at Dekeft and whispered, "It's Rob!"

"We not know if t'ey free or eef some hef seshes."

Despite his logic, Crue itched to rush forward. _Someone_ was alive! She crossed her arms and forced herself to stay quiet until Dekeft peered around the corner and signaled to the other hunters to lower their weapons. "T'ey no haf seshes," he announced with a grin of his own.

Without waiting for the others, she stepped out and looked up the path. She first saw the mass of slaves that filled the tunnel, many of them the worse for wear. Those in the worst condition sat or lay in a wagon, and it took her a few seconds to recognize Chak as the one who was pulling it. Standing close to him was bedraggled hedgehog in a tattered Waverunner uniform. "Chak! Robert!" she exclaimed as she rushed toward them. "You're alive!"

Chak nearly stumbled as his attention was diverted from the wagon he led down the incline. As soon as he registered who it was, he grinned and kept walking until they were on a flatter surface before he set down the wagon.

At the same time, Robert's face lit up. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Miss Crue!"

"As are you, Mister Rosequill!" She felt her eyes begin to tear up as she looked him over. "I heard you were in the sulfur mines! Are you alright?"

"Better 'n many o' these poor souls." He waved a paw at the rest of the group.

"What took ye so long?" came Chak's gruff voice as he rubbed his paws against his shirt.

Before she could respond, three mongooses darted forward, raising their weapons at the sea otter. Crue ran forward and screamed out, _"_ _Stop!"_ Standing between him and a small collection of pointy weapons, she raised her paws toward them and exclaimed, "Wait! Don't hurt him! I know this beast!"

The mongooses stood their ground, but did not come any closer. "He hes sash. He es ef t'e Fiyah Gott!"

Crue turned and saw Chak pull at the red sash around his waist. He chuckled nervously as he took it off, saying, "Be that the problem?" He untied the sash and threw it aside. "Thar." He met the fierce eyes of the mongooses, then looked back to the squirrel. "Thankee," he nodded.

"Don't mention it, Chak. I'm glad to see you alive..." She looked at the sash on the ground, thinking of how he'd spent the last two weeks handling slaves and wondered just how much he'd fallen back upon old habits. "...And on our side."

"He played his part," Robert spoke up, "just like the rest of us. Couldn't've escaped as easily without him."

Crue decided to rely on Robert's assessment and considered the matter closed. "Very well." She looked back toward Dekeft and motioned him closer while the other mongooses kept an eye out for anyone coming in their direction. "This is Dekeft, the leader of the mongooses," she started before pointing toward her two friends, "and this is Robert and Chak."

Dekeft nodded and stated, "Crue en' t'e woozle help monkoozers, en' we help her find you." He beckoned the other mongooses forward and picked up one of the cutlasses they'd taken off of a pirate. He handed it toward Robert and said, "We haf weapons for you. T'e dead not need t'em."

Crue watched as Robert took the cutlass and tested its weight in his paws. As the mongooses handed over more weapons, she grinned and stated, "I know it's no oar, but it's better than nothing, right?"

"Heh heh heh, it'll do fine, Miss Crue." He then looked down at one of the pockets in her robes. Pointing at it, he noted, "What's that you have there, miss? Looks familiar."

Chak looked over as she pulled the hat out. "That be Tooley's hat! Where'd ye come by it?"

He extended a paw toward it, but Crue pulled it out of reach of his claws. Words stuck in her throat as she looked at the tattered fabric and tried to explain. "Tooley… he…"

Seeing that she could say no more, Dekeft spoke for her, "T'e woozle come to help Crue en' I ven we are to be keel't by Shuga. He show my tribe t'at Fiyah Gott ees no gott, en' t'en High Priest keel heem." Dekeft stood up a little straighter as he added, "We deal wit' High Priest."

Crue tucked the hat gently back into her pocket. She cleared her throat as she once more pushing back the need to mourn her friend. Her voice quavering a little, she declared, "Now that we're all together, I intend to keep the rest of you alive! I've brought the mongooses. What's our next move?"


	76. Leading the Charge

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Leading the Charge**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

Robert looked to the beasts around himself who anxiously awaited his orders.

"What's our next move?"

The words bounced around inside of Robert's head as he turned towards the beasts around him. Slave, Waverunner, and mongoose all stared back, their eyes fixed on him as they awaited the hedgehog's orders. In the crowd, he caught Colonel Swiftpaw's eyes, the hare giving him a nod in assurance. Robert returned it.

"Right," Robert said, turning quickly to where Chak stood beside him. "The firs' thing we need to do is make sure that everybeast too weak for fightin' are taken somewhere safe. Plink showed me a tunnel in the latrines back in the slave quarters that I think might lead out o' this rock. I'd say we jus' get them there an' they'll be fine. Chak, you were with those pirates, you know if'n there are any more slaves still in here?"

The otter nodded. "Aye, Rob. The poor sods in the iron mine still need 'elp."

"Alright, then." Robert said. "Chak, you an' Hylan go find them poor souls an' save them. Then bring everybeast to the tunnel."

Hylan spoke up in contest. "Now why do I need to follow Chak? I have as much reason as anybeast here to go after Blade!"

"Aye, that you do, mate," Robert began,"but Chak cain't free any slaves by himself while he's luggin a cart around. An' aside from that, they need to see a fellow slave to know this's for real, an' there ain't nobeast better'n you for that."

Hylan started to fight back once more, but then nodded in understanding.

"An' what abou' ye?" Chak cut in.

Robert gave the otter a wink. "I got a plan, don't worry." The hedgehog paused and turned to address the crowd of beasts before him. "It's time we stopped Blade, once an' for all. And I'm gonna be the one t' lead the charge through this mountain until we find that blasted villain! If there's anybeast who's willing to fight by my side, be they former slave, mongoose, or Waverunner, then follow me. We'll rid the seas o' that scum for good!"

The beasts cheered, shaking their paws and weapons in the air. One by one the beasts stepped forward, brandishing whatever they had as they joined the hedgehog. Robert watched as even Swiftpaw joined in the fervor, snatching a saber from the corpse of a fallen pirate. The hare looked at Robert, a familiar fighting spirit finally returning to the colonel's eyes.

As the beasts clambered about readying for action around the hedgehog, Robert looked to Chak.

"Good luck, mate," Chak said with a brief nod. "Mayhaps we'll meet up wi' ye on the other end." The otter grabbed the handles of his cart and motioned for Hylan to follow him down the tunnels.

Robert turned back to the horde of beasts before him, searching through them until he found Crue. "Miss Crue, I don' know these tunnels, you know them better'n me."

"Well, not by that much, Robert," the squirrelmaid replied.

"Even still, do you have any idea where Blade might be holed up?"

The healer paused, obviously racking her brain thinking about the question until realization eventually lit her features. "There's a chance he might be in or near his office. It's back a ways, but I believe I could find my way there."

Robert gave a hearty laugh. "Heh heh heh! Well then, consider yourself an honorary navigator, Crue, 'cause I'm goin' to be needin' ya to lead the way for us."

The squirrel hurried ahead of the crowd, motioning to the mongooses to follow as she led the way through the dark tunnels. Robert followed closely behind. It wasn't long before the group neared the end of the tunnel, with a gang of pirates waiting for them.

Robert grimaced, drawing his cutlass and preparing himself for battle.

* * *

 _The morning was a breezy one, filling the port with the smell of seafoam rather than its usual offering of dank fish smells. Robert took this as a good sign, barely able to contain an enormous grin as he stood in the recruitment line with other eager beasts. The hedgehog was bouncing on his heels, knocking his tiny knapsack against his quills as he waited his turn._

 _"Next!" shouted a recruiter, prompting Robert to enthusiastically bound his way to the nearest open table. He was awaited by an older hare, scribbling notes onto documents and papers neatly ordered in front of him._

 _"Name?" he asked, not looking up from his work, a bored tone weighing down his words._

 _"Robert Rosequill, sir!" replied the excited young hedgehog._

 _"And what position were ye applyin' for, Rosequill?"_

 _"Well sir, I was hopin' to follow in me father's footsteps an' be a navigator. I've been helpin' him for a few seasons now wit' maps an' star charts an' such, so. . ."_

 _The hare cut Robert off, waving his paw. "We already got ourselves a navigator, it's one of the first positions filled. Ain't no sense in hirin' beasts off the streets for such an essential post. . ."_

 _Robert nodded, a little too eagerly. "Aye, an' that be makin' sense, it's jus' I was hopin' to maybe learn under who you already have, you know? So's I can get a head start on learnin' the ropes. I'm hopin' to be navigatin' a vessel of me own someday. . ."_

 _The hare cut him off once more, a hint of irritation seeping into his bored tone. "Lad, ain't no use for an apprenticeship, this is a Waverunner vessel. We ain't just sailing for the fun of it. There are pirates out there we've got to deal with. Now either apply for somethin' else or stop wastin' my time an' head on back home."_

 _Robert swallowed. He knew it would be weeks, maybe even months before he got another chance. "Aye, it's alright, I can do jus' about any job you be needin' me to, sir! Ain't no problem with me, so long as I get to sail, heh heh heh!"_

 _"Well I'm glad to hear it. Like I said, pirates are the scourge of the seas nowadays, and so we're always prepared for a few more soldiers to join the ranks. So how about it then, lad? Can you fight?"_

 _Robert's heart sank a little. "Er, well, I've gotten into a couple o' tussles with me brothers now and again, but. . .I ain't never hurt nobeast. It ain't particularly in me nature to if I were to be honest, sir. Me father always told us 'there ain't no beast that's expendable, be they vermin or no', an' I ain't seen no reason to believe otherwise."_

 _The hare nodded, looking back down to his papers. "That's unfortunate to hear, lad, 'cause if you're gonna sail, you're gonna fight. Ain't no way around that, whether you're a navigator or a swabby. That's jus' the truth of it."_

 _The young hedgehog froze for a moment. His heart was racing._

 _"Lad, I'm gonna need you to step aside for the rest of the line. . ."_

 _"I'll do it!" Robert shouted nervously. Glancing around, trying to hide his embarrassment, he repeated himself. "I'll do it. Sign me up as a soldier, sir."_

 _The recruiter cocked an eyebrow, then nodded. "Good to hear, lad. Welcome aboard, Private Rosequill."_

* * *

"Auugh!" a rat screamed as Robert pierced his heart. The hedgehog let the poor beast slide off the blade, then swung around to strike at a nearby stoat. He was smiling as he dodged Robert's swing, then came at him with a cutlass of his own. Robert made an ugly frown at the beast, preparing for the pirate's incoming onslaught.

He parried the stoat's blow, watching as the beast grunted heavily from the exertion. Robert took his chance, feinting a stab at the beast's eyes then instead slicing for the pirate's throat when he tried to block. Winning the trade, Robert fell back to let the beast die as he began to scan for more pirates. It wasn't long before he found one slashing into a poor vole, laughing as the beast fell slain to the ground.

 _Pirates. They've never stopped lovin' what they do._

As Robert quickly silenced the beast's laugh, he found himself thinking of Plink.

 _This ain't no place for a lass like her. All this murder an' bloodshed. . .she don' belong here. No, she needs a family. A real family._

Robert stopped where he stood, his sword arm falling to his side.

"Robert, Blade's office is just over there!"

Crue's cries rattled the hedgehog from his thoughts. Finding focus once more, the hedgehog turned and shouted to the other beasts, raising his cutlass high. "Aye then, lads! Finish 'em off an' we can go for our real enemy!"

Another cheer erupting from his fighters, the last of the pirates were handled, and the group made their way to Blade's quarters. Robert rushed ahead of the crowd, running alonside Crue. The squirrelmaid acknowledged him, then muttered to him under her breath, so none of the otherbeasts could hear.

"Do you think you can do it, Robert?" she asked. "Kill Blade?"

Robert looked at her with stone cold eyes. "Aye. I can. Today I told the slaves that there ain't nothin' stronger an' scarier than a beast with nothin' to lose but, while I've been fightin', I realized that I lied to 'em." His mind wandering to Violet and Maribel, knowing he may never see them again. "There is somethin' stronger, Crue. And that's a beast who has everythin' to lose."

The two continued in determined silence on their way to Blade's room. As they neared, Robert began to feel anxious. There weren't any more pirates in their way. No one was guarding the captain's room.

Robert's fears were realized once they reached an open door, to a room that was empty.

"Well, this is his room," Crue muttered, visibly upset.

Robert frowned. Signalling the other beasts, the group began scanning around the vacant chamber. While Robert looked, a flash of red by the door caught his eye. Walking over, the hedgehog found a red sash laying on the ground, folded neatly. Mocking him.

"Blade was on to us," Robert growled. "He ain't here."

"Smart gott," Dekeft cut in, snatching the sash from the hedgehog's hands.

"He cain't be too far gone though," Robert said, to no one in particular.

"Oi, i've found sumfin strange o'er here!" shouted an otter near a bookcase lining the wall.

Robert rushed to see what the otter was pointing at. The bookcase was cracked along its side. Robert began to pull it, but it wouldn't budge. The otter lent him a paw, and toppled the case over, revealing a hidden tunnel. Robert swiveled his head back to the crowd of anxious beasts. "He must've escaped through here."

"The harbor!" Crue suddenly shouted, slapping a paw to her forehead. "I figured he was planning on leaving the island. I should have thought of that first!"

"Then we gotta be gettin' there quick now!" Robert stated urgently. The hedgehog turned to Frederick, who was staring at the tunnel through a narrowed gaze. "Fred!"

"Aye, Rob, you need me?" the hare responded.

"Aye, we be needin' you to grab a few o' these beasts an' chase after him through there, maybe even catch him or at least get him out o' there. I know you ain't goin' to have trouble with that." Frederick nodded with a smile. Robert then turned to face the other beasts, raising his voice. "The rest o' us will go an' head him off at the harbor!"

The crowd roared with fervor, bustling about the room in a mad dash towards harbor. Robert followed behind just as determined.

 _We'll get you yet, Blade. Jus' you wait._


	77. Exodus

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Exodus**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

Upon reaching the slave cells, Chak found the iron mine workers already being packed in by their drivers.

"Ahoy thar, mate – looks like ye got yer paws full!" a stoat, coiling a whip around his forearm, greeted the sea otter.

Chak didn't recognize him, but most of the slave drivers knew about the woodlander slave master at this point. He slowed to a stop as the ground leveled out and set the handles of the wagon down with a grunt, shaking out his aching arms.

"Aye," he nodded at the stoat.

The other slave driver, a brindle cat, closed the door to the iron slaves' cells with a loud clank. "Be ye leadin' this group by yerself? That's a lot ta handle…"

"Nay, I got 'elp. Meet Hylan." Chak gestured and the slaves behind the wagon charged forward, led by the branded pine marten swinging a hatchet. The cat and stoat were quickly overwhelmed, going down under a hail of swinging blades, clubs, and rocks.

Hylan laughed as he tugged a ring of keys from the cat's fallen, twitching form. "The looks on their faces!" He wiped a bloody paw across his damp brow, then unlocked the door to the iron slaves' cells with a flourish. "Welcome to the revolution, friends."

The slaves poured out of their prison with a roar, shaking paws with the sulfur miners, shouting, and even dancing in some cases. Energy built like lightning across a roiling storm cloud, and several slaves started pummeling the bodies of the dead slave drivers. More and more crowded in, spitting, clawing, and violently ripping fur from their former tormentors until they were hardly recognizable. Chak couldn't help but cringe, thinking of how close he had come to a similar fate aboard the Silver Maiden. Would they have vandalized his body as well?

Suddenly, a mangy-looking hare pointed at Chak. "He's a slave driver too!" he screeched, "disguising himself as one of us!" The mob abruptly turned on the sea otter with one mind, thirsty for blood that was still warm.

Chak raised his paws and backed up with alarm. His shouts of denial were completely lost in a sea of madness. A bedraggled river otter came at him swinging and Chak side-stepped, punching him in the nose. A small shrew ran towards him next and Chak hesitated, then felt a sharp pain in his leg where the little menace jabbed him with a broken spoon. He drew his cudgel then to begin defending himself, but a squirrel leapt forward and seized the weapon, sinking his sharp incisors into the otter's paw. Chak yelled and released his grip, swinging his other fist reflexively to clock the rodent in the jaw.

Hylan was shouting for them all to stop, repeating again and again that Chak was an ally, but none of the iron mine slaves seemed to acknowledge his voice.

Chak threw up his arms to block a blow from his own cudgel now, grunting at the bruise against bone. More shouts carried through the air and Chak braced himself for another blow from the cudgel-swinging river otter when a mouse tackled him from behind, collapsing his knees so that he fell hard onto his back. The slave otter loomed over him, lifting the heavy club high over Chak's head when suddenly a rat moved to stand between the two otters, gripping a sharpened pole. Chak recognized the scarf tied around his neck. Then a haremaid hobbled up beside the rat, brandishing a dagger, and another slave from the wagon jumped in beside her, raising a piece of sulfur threateningly at any who tried to take advantage of Chak's vulnerable position. Chak rose to his feet as more slaves appeared, forcing their way in, forming a wall between the panting slave driver and the violent mob of iron workers. Slave stood against slave, until finally the noise died off enough for Hylan to be heard.

"The sea otter is not our enemy! He's on our side and has been working together with us from the start! _Stand down!_ " The message finally seemed to sink in and the burning wrath of the iron miners began to cool, though Chak noticed that the otter had decided to keep his cudgel.

Chak tried to will his shaking paws steady. "Vulpuz' shadow… that were close," he muttered as Hylan made his way over, holding a torch.

"Are you alright?"

Chak took a deep breath and nodded, letting the air out slowly. His paw bled, his leg had a hole in it, and his arm felt tenderized, but compared to what might have happened, it was nothing.

"Let's 'urry up an' give 'em summat else ta focus on," he muttered darkly, pulling his own set of keys from his belt to unlock the door to the sulfur slaves' cells. As he approached the iron bars, a familiar rust-colored beast stared out at him. Chak nodded at the squirrel.

"'Ello, Reedox." He turned the key in the mechanism and Hylan swung the door open.

"I thought they were going to kill you," the squirrel stated flatly.

"Don' sound so disappointed." Chak half joked. He met Reedox's piercing gaze only briefly before averting his eyes and reattaching the keys habitually to his belt. He turned to speak to Hylan when Reedox interrupted.

"Where's Torin?"

Chak met the squirrel's eyes steadily then. "Dead under a pile o' sulfur whar 'e belongs."

Hylan nodded beside him, eyes glimmering in the light of his torch. "Brained and broken. I don't think a bone was left whole in all his bloody body."

Reedox studied the pine marten's branded face, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Wish I coulda seen that."

"It's a memory I'll cherish forever," Hylan stated contemptuously.

"So whar 'zactly be this tunnel?" Chak tried to redirect them. "Be ye knowin'?"

The pine marten jerked a claw towards the back of the cells where a stone wall divided a corner section from the rest of the slave quarters. "Yeah. It's in the ceiling of the latrines."

The three beasts made their way to the narrow, dank room. Chak put an arm to his nose, filtering the air through fur. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, even with Hylan's torch. Small holes bored through the wall appeared to be the only source of ventilation and light. Hylan hopped up onto a stone ledge along a sewage drain and pointed up. The tunnel was nigh invisible.

"Won't be easy ta get everyone up thar." Chak took in the distance from floor to ceiling. "Think ye can climb in if I give ye a paw up?" he asked the squirrel.

Reedox gaped at the opening. "How did you find out about this?"

"Robert. Well Plink, really. Turns out she be all o'er these tunnels, explorin' on 'er own..." He locked his fingers together and motioned for Reedox to step up. The squirrel obliged and Chak hoisted his light frame up to the tunnel entrance with ease. Reedox scrambled over the lip and paused.

"Whaddaya see?" Chak squinted up at Reedox's cauterized stub of a tail.

"I'm not sure. Give me the torch." Hylan handed the torch carefully to the squirrel's extended paw and the tunnel lit up like a giant ceiling lantern. "It's a mushroom. And a drawing. I think it's some sort of instructions? Hold on." The orange glow grew dimmer and Chak was swallowed by the putrid, dripping darkness around him.

They waited. Then they waited some more. Chak started to wonder whether sending Reedox had been a stupid move. Then a faint light returned to the black hole and grew steadily brighter.

"I see the path we're meant to take." The squirrel's voice echoed down. "She's put a bunch of mushrooms around it."

"Grand – let's get everybeast organized. Reedox, cain ye 'elp guide the others the right direction once we get 'em up thar?"

"Yeah."

Chak couldn't help but smile in that moment, pleased at the civil exchange.

It didn't take long for the slaves to cobble together a makeshift ladder once they knew the plan. The strongest and most well-armed slaves went first. Then, one by one, the rest followed.

Chak held the ladder steady as the line of chattering slaves moved along excitedly. He was watching an elderly mouse being lifted up into the tunnel when he felt a beast throw her arms around him squeezing him unnaturally. He jerked back in surprise and the vole released him, smiling with tears in her eyes.

"Martin bless you!" She grabbed his free paw in both of hers and pursed her lips, shaking her head. "Bless you." Then she started up the ladder.

Chak wasn't sure what to make of the ordeal. Hylan was a marten, but Chak hardly felt "blessed" by him. He glanced over at the branded slave who appeared to be laughing.

"It's called a hug, mate!"

"Aye." Chak cracked his neck and shrugged his shoulders, gripping the ladder once again. Then another slave tackled him, shaking his entire arm with enthusiasm.

"Thank you, friend. Thank you! You've brought hope to many who considered themselves already dead."

Chak nodded dumbly at the dormouse, then clamped his hanging mouth shut, swallowing thickly. Gratitude. They were _grateful_. Unlike the slaves on the _Silver Maiden_ , they didn't blame him for their long years of suffering. He was their liberator.

Chak thought of the cold stare of Reedox, the one slavebeast who knew his past as well as his present. He was a harsher judge than Nimbleton might have been, but he had always been the more honest of the two.

Slave after slave continued to embrace and commend him, until all the sulfur slaves had gone and only the wary iron slaves remained.

Gradually the line diminished until Chak and Hylan had helped the last of the slaves scale the ladder up to the tunnel.

"Let's do one last check ta make sure no one's been left be'ind," Chak suggested. "Then we oughta destroy the ladder so no curious pirate discovers whar the tunnel be." Hylan agreed and they walked back out to where the partially dismantled wagon slumped, robbed of brackets and lengths of wood. Hylan checked it over while Chak scanned the iron miners' quarters for beasts that might have fallen unconscious or ill.

About midway through his search a strangled cry pierced the darkness. Chak jerked into action, yanking his whip from his belt and dashing back toward the wagon. He expected to find pirates there slaughtering Hylan, but was relieved to see the marten alone, albeit collapsed in a sobbing heap on the ground. He approached warily still, imagining arrows and daggers flying from the shadows. Hylan had obviously been wounded _somehow_.

"Oy," he whispered. "Psst!" His eyes darted from wall to wall and he gripped his whip with a sweating paw, quietly cursing the river otter who stole his club. Hylan made a whimpering sound, looking up at last as Chak drew cautiously near. "What 'appened? 'Ave ye been attacked?"

The pine marten shook his head and held up something green. After a moment Chak recognized it as the apron Torin had been wearing earlier.

"It's hers. It's Vera's! Something awful's happened to her. Look, there's blood! _Her_ blood!" His voice cracked and a keening escaped him in a heave. "I knew I should have gone after her! I might have been able to do something!"

Chak snatched the apron with some annoyance and studied the smear of red, sniffing deeply. "It's pretty fresh, still, mate. She might be alive yet." Hylan looked up, clutching at the sea otter's words with a drowning beasts' desperation.

"We'll go to Blade!" he announced, leaping to his feet. "He has her!"

"No." Chak put a paw to the pine marten's shoulder, holding him in place. "Torin were wearin' that apron."

Hylan stared at Chak, horror draining the color from his scars.

"I think we should search 'is quarters first." Chak glanced toward the latrines where the ladder still stood, hesitating. The slave master's abode was not far. They could come right back.

As they hastened toward their destination, Chak gave Hylan a wary, side-long glance. What if Vera really was dead? He didn't think he could stop the pine marten from doing something stupid then. Hylan walked quickly beside him, gripping the hatchet he'd been given by the mongooses. Chak eyed the weapon, opening and closing his empty paw. Upon reaching Torin's quarters he paused outside the door.

"Yer gonna want ta brace yerself. Whuther Vera be thar er not, it ain't a pretty site. 'E were more obsessed than ye be knowin'."

Hylan wavered, then pulled the cord to open the door. The stench blasted them both in the faces and they stepped through, ready for anything.

Firelight flickered gently in several oil lamps, illuminating the familiar room with the plush chairs and polished tables. The curtain was pulled back so that all of the wildcat's twisted collection was on display, though Chak noted the pine marten's tail was missing. Hylan gaped, frozen where he stood.

"I don' see any fox tails what weren't thar afore… at least." Chak moved to scout out the rest of the place which included a pantry, a closet with a big box of lumpy sand that smelled strongly of ammonia, and a large bedroom with a fancy draped canopy bed and a fireplace cut into the rock face. Upon the bed sat the missing tail, harnessed to a belt-like contraption. Chak stared, then backed into the living room again where Hylan stood. "Nothin'." He shook his head. "Not a trace." He turned to face the marten. " I'm sorry."

Hylan's eyes widened and his breath came faster and faster as Chak's words sunk in. A feral growl started to rise in his throat and his paw tightened on the hatchet. Chak took a step back as the frustrated pine marten roared, slamming the blade of his hatchet into one of the end tables with a loud crack.

Chak sighed, then cocked his head to one side, listening. "'Old on… d'ye 'ear that?" A muffled, eerie moan emanated from somewhere near.

"It's coming from the bedroom!" Hylan shoved past the otter, pausing upon sight of the familiar tail on the bed. "What the devil?" He gaped once again, disbelieving, but his attention snapped quickly back to task when the low howl filtered through the floor and walls again. "There's another door over here!"

Chak followed as the pine marten tore open the narrow doorway, revealing a staircase that descended into darkness. The pine marten ran ahead while Chak jumped to grab a lantern from the wall. He was rushing down the stone steps after Hylan when the light of the lantern glinted off something propped against the wall. It was an axe. Chak seized the weapon with a rush of pleasure, hefting it into his bare paw, then descended into darkness, ready now to take on whatever waited for him in the blackness below.

As the light from the lantern spread out across the room, two figures came into view. Hylan was kneeling before a limp form, tied to a chair, shaking it desperately. A long, bushy fox tail protruded through the slats. Chak frowned.

It was Vera.


	78. In the Mist of Yesterday

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **In the Mist of Yesterday**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

 _The door slammed shut and all sound faded. Vera could hear her heart pounding. Her gasping breaths echoed in her head. Don't move. Don't make a sound. Don't move. Don't make a sound. Her brother's final words to her rattled around in her memory._

 _Sarn wasn't moving. He lay there by the doorway in a pool of blood. Murdered by the rats because he didn't let go of Mum's amulet. She didn't know what to do._

 _She stared through the slats of the woodbox, waiting for Sarn to get up. Waiting for him to tell her what to do. Mum and Dad were gone. Bryht, Thall, and Kear were gone. Sarn was supposed to take care of her._

 _Don't move. Don't make a sound. Don't move._

 _She curled up in a ball. The few split logs in the bottom of the woodbox hurt to sit on, but Sarn told her not to move. What if those soldiers were waiting just outside? Waiting for her to come out of hiding?_

 _She was hungry. So hungry. Flies buzzed around her, and around Sarn. He still didn't move. Their house smelled nasty. Her stomach hurt._

 _Don't make a sound. Don't move._

 _Their den had gone dark and light, and dark and light. Now it was dark again. So dark. Vera couldn't move. She didn't dare move._

 _"Sarn! Vera! We're home!"_

 _The door to their den banged open and Vera screamed._

"Vera! Shh... Shh... It's okay."

Rough paws touched her face. Vera flinched away and screamed again.

"Vera! It's me! You're safe! Torin can't hurt you anymore."

She blinked and half-choked on a sob. Dim light illuminated the cavern where she sat strapped to a heavy wooden chair. She swallowed, her mouth dry from screaming and crying.

"Hey, Vers. Look at me. Come on. You're safe now." Paws were again on either side of her head, gently turning her face towards the voice.

She raised her eyes, and looked at the pine marten who had crouched so he was eye-level with her. "Hylan?" She began sobbing anew at the sight of him as guilt and relief swarmed over her. _I gave Torin his name. I was going to tell him everything. I couldn't be strong enough to protect my best friend._

"Shh, shh," Hylan soothed. He smiled and a tear slipped from one eye. "It's gonna be okay. Fates, Vers, you gave me a scare..." His eyes closed and he released a slow, shuddering breath. "I thought he'd killed you..." He let his trembling paws drop from her head and began undoing the straps that held her right arm down.

A dark shadow with an axe moved between her and the light and she cried out, jerking in her bonds once more.

Hylan jumped. "Whoa, easy, Vera! It's just Chak. He's on our side."

"He is?" she whimpered.

The gruff sea otter nodded and set his axe on the floor beside her. He began undoing the strap on her left wrist. "Air ye a'right?"

Wearily, she nodded, though she felt shattered within. They got her paws free and Vera cradled her injured left paw close. "What about Torin?"

"Dead," Hylan and Chak said together.

She bowed her head and a whimper slipped out. _Maybe Hylan doesn't know I betrayed him, then..._

"What happened, Vera?" Hylan asked, unbuckling the strap at her ankle. "How'd you end up here?"

She used her uninjured paw to wipe the remains of tears from her face. "Blade said one of the foxes had gotten into his treasure. Then there was something about Ciera. They thought there were things that I knew. I'm... still not exactly sure."

"Did they know about the mushrooms?" Hylan asked.

She bit her lip and before she could answer, Chak asked, "What mushrooms?

"Er, the soup Vera gave you yesterday wasn't exactly... ah... good." Hylan had a sheepish half-smirk on his face. "In our defense, we didn't know you were on our side."

"Ah," he raised a brow at Vera as he undid the last strap holding her down. "So t'were yer fault Torin were sick yesterday."

Vera nodded, seeing a way around Hylan's question. "Were there scones at breakfast? Mushroom and leek ones?"

"Dunno. They fergot ta bring me breakfast this mornin' an' that rat were so grumpy 'bout 'avin' ta serve the gruel, I didn' think it'd be a good idea ta bother 'im about it."

Hylan shrugged. "Well, doesn't matter now. Let me see your paw, Vers." He gently took her blood-crusted paw. He examined it and blinked rapidly a few times. "Well, it could be worse, I suppose."

She looked at his face, with the three X brands on it. "I know," she whispered. _And if it were any worse, I would have given Torin so much more..._ She looked away.

Hylan cleared his throat roughly. "Torin made Bodvoc look like a blasted Abbeybeast, didn't he?"

Vera thought back to the crook of a weasel she'd been employed to when she'd first met Hylan. The pine marten had helped rescue her from him, too. "That's one way of putting it. Worst Bodvoc ever did was give me a black eye."

"Oh, he coulda done worse." Hylan pushed himself to his feet and then bowed and held out a paw. "M'lady?"

She let him pull her to her feet, then threw her arms around her old friend, hugging him close, not caring that a couple tears slipped free. Through his tattered tunic, she felt the scars and scabs of the whippings and beatings he'd endured, and she knew worse would have happened had Torin had even just a little longer with her.

Chak cleared his throat roughly as he picked up his axe. "Ah'll be upstairs..."

Hylan chuckled as the otter retreated and gently released her. "We shouldn't linger long anyway. Let's rinse this blood off and get moving."

Hylan kept a paw on her to keep her steady as they walked over to the basin of water. Vera carefully washed her paw. It still ached, a constant reminder of her weakness, and her stubs of claws oozed blood. She whimpered softly.

"Hang on, I'll be right back." Hylan trotted up the stairs and after a moment, Vera heard fabric tearing. When he returned, he had strips of cloth from Torin's bed. "Ain't perfect, but until we can get you to somebeast that knows better, it'll do."

While he wrapped her wounds gently with the strips, she averted her gaze, afraid to meet Hylan's eyes. She noticed the shells and Fildering's picture sitting on the table. After Hylan tied off the last makeshift bandage, she grabbed those and followed him up the stairs, tucking the picture between the shells once more.

Chak was in the main room of Torin's quarters, where there was a fireplace dug into one wall of the cave. He'd built the blaze up and was solemnly adding the tails from Torin's collection one by one. He noticed the stares of the fox and marten and shrugged. "Don't seem right, leavin' 'em up there like that."

Vera turned as Hylan went back into the bedroom, where there sat the strange belt and the glossy brown tail attached to it. A sour taste filled her mouth as he picked it up carefully.

He returned to the front room. "I know how Reedox feels." he said, voice breaking. "Worst day of my life. Just wanted to lay down and die. How could I go on?" He smoothed some of the fur down on the tail and stepped closer to the fire.

He hesitated, looking over the apparatus the tail was attached to, then stepped back, slowly turning the belt and getting everything lined up.

He gave Vera a weak grin. "I could kind of have a tail again..."

Vera stared at her friend with his tail. But it would just look wrong. The fur on the tail was the sleek, smooth, chocolate brown that Vera remembered Hylan always being. The rest of him was dull, more the color of dried mud, still tinged with yellow sulfur dust.

"It wouldn't look too bad, right?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

 _As vain as ever._ She shook her head and stifled the odd urge to start giggling. "Some things never change. You're still a dandy, aren't you?"

The marten trembled suddenly and he took a step away from her, curling his shoulders and chin in a defensive way.

"Hylan? What's wrong?" _What did I say?_

For a several very long moments, he was quiet, hunched up on himself. Then he cleared his throat. "Dandy... That's the slave name Torin gave me, 'cause I was always so proud..."

She clapped paws over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't know!"

He shivered. Then he straightened and stroked his tail one last time. A few strides brought him close to the fire and he gently tossed the tail and it's apparatus in. He watched them burn for a moment, then turned his back on the flames. "I can live without a tail. I can live with scars. Won't be easy, but it can be done." He picked up a hatchet from where it lay embedded in an end table. "Right. Chak, let's get Vera to that tunnel."

"Aye! Safest place for 'er." The otter shouldered his axe, which had been sitting against the wall near the fire.

"What about the pirates?" She asked as Hylan gripped her uninjured paw and led her out the door and down the tunnels.

"Crue's mongooses are taking care of them," Hylan said. "And any they haven't, Chak and I can handle."

They followed Chak, passing bodies of slain pirates and occasional mongooses. Off in the distance, she could hear sounds of fighting. Hylan's ears perked forward, wary of danger, a posture she'd seen on him before a few times when she'd traveled with him on her way from one inn to another. He'd protected her then, just as he was protecting her now. She looked down at her wounded paw and felt sick.

 _Why couldn't I have stayed quiet? Why couldn't I be brave enough to hold out even just a little while?_

But she knew the truth. She never had been really brave. Whatever it took to protect her own skin, that was always what she'd done. She sighed and saw Hylan glance at her before giving her paw a reassuring squeeze.

She almost pulled her paw away. _I don't deserve a friend like him._

After a while, Vera recognized the path they were taking. "Why are we going to the slaves' quarters?"

"There's a secret tunnel down there that leads to the harbor. We put all them that couldn't fight in there, so it's the safest place for you right now. You should be able to catch up with the rest in no time."

When they reached the slave cells, Chak picked up a torch and led the way into the foul-smelling enclosure that had once housed the sulfur slaves. Vera balked. "Hylan..." She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.

He tightened his grip. "Trust me, Vera." He led her deeper into the cell and pushed a tattered scrap of fabric out of the way, pulling her into a small cave that smelled like a privy.

"Tunnel be up thar." Chak pointed towards the shadowy ceiling. A roughly made ladder sat against the wall.

"Go on up," Hylan insisted. "We'll hand you the torch."

Vera eyed the ladder, then climbed up carefully. She scrambled onto the ledge and turned around to accept the torch from Chak. Then, the otter and marten pulled the ladder back. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to help kill Blade." Hylan said as he helped Chak lay the ladder on the cave floor.

Vera stared. "Kill Blade? Hylan, have you lost your mind."

"Probably," he said with quick grin that the flickering torchlight made chilling. Then the smile faded. "Look, this is our chance. It might be the only chance anybeast ever has to stop him. I'd be a fool to not take it."

Vera stared at him and shook her head. "He's got an army!"

"Thanks t' Crue, so d' we," Chak said. Using his axe, he began breaking the ladder apart.

She stretched out her injured paw towards Hylan. "Come with me, please! You don't have to fight Blade!"

"And why's that?" Hylan asked, lifting his hatchet to help Chak destroy the ladder.

"Because you could die! What am I supposed to do if you get hurt? I thought you were dead once already." She swallowed down a lump in her throat. "I can't go through that again!"

He stopped and looked up at her with a frown, then his eyes widened. "Of course... It's all about you, isn't it? Always has been."

Vera flinched as if he'd slapped her. "No, that's not it!"

Hylan crossed his arms and stepped close to the ledge where she crouched. "Why are you even here, Vera? I know you didn't come to save me. How did cautious, careful Vera get mixed up with Captain Blade?"

"That's not important."

"Yes, I think it is."

Secrets piled on top of lies threatened to crush her. She glanced into his dark eyes and looked away quickly, ears drooping.

"Fates, Vera... You got yourself into trouble, didn't you. You did something stupid and had to leave town." He stared at her, eyes flitting over her face, then his voice dropped to a growl. "You went to Blackfur, didn't you?"

She cringed and whispered. "What else could I do?"

"Vera, you promised me! You promised! You were going to stay away from Rigal, and Fort Blackfur, and that stupid, bloody amulet! You... you... agh!" He ran a paw through his head fur, then gripped the back of his head tightly, curling in on himself. When he straightened and turned back to her, tears were in his eyes. "One thing is all I asked. One. Because I wanted you to stay safe."

"Hylan," Chak grumbled, as he began shoving the broken ladder bits into the privy pits. "We need t' go, mate!"

"Hang on." He dashed a paw across his eyes and asked Vera. "Why?"

"My brother died protecting it. I couldn't just leave it."

Hylan sighed and his shoulders slumped. "You always said that. That was always the excuse. You honestly believe your brother died for a piece of jewelry? I don't, and I think you know exactly what he died protecting. You're just too scared to admit it."

"Hylan. Vera. We ain't got time fer this," Chak said.

Hylan sighed and then gave Chak a nod. "You're right. Vera, follow the mushrooms. They'll lead you to the others."

"No, Hylan. Not without you."

"I'm not abandoning my friends," he snapped. "I promised to help with the pirates, and that's what I'm going to do. Unlike some, I keep my promises."

Vera stared down at him, jaw agape, but no words could come. He was right. She had broken her promise and everything that had happened to her over the last season was a result of that.

The torchlight played off the tears that traced dark tracks down Hylan's fur. "I'm glad you're okay," he said in a softer tone. "And I'm so, so glad you're not dead. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I have to do this."

"Hylan, you can't abandon me like this."

He backed away. "I have to. Please, take care of yourself." He turned his back on her and followed Chak out.

"Hylan? Hylan, wait! Please! Hylan!"

Vera was left alone. Forgotten. Abandoned.

She dropped the torch, leaned back against the wall of the tunnel, buried her face into her paws, and began to cry.

Alone again. With nothing.

But isn't it what she deserved? A little pain and she'd betrayed her best friend. Hylan was mad that she broke the promise to stay away from Fort Blackfur. How betrayed would he feel if he knew how she'd nearly told Blade everything just to get her amulet back? And if he'd known how easily she'd cracked under Torin's pressure?

Weak.

Worthless.

She deserved to be left behind.

After a while she reached up to scrub a paw across her face, and remembered she still had the shells protecting Fildering's picture clenched in her fist. She opened her paw up and looked at them.

 _I think you know exactly what he died protecting. You're just too scared to admit it._ Hylan had said.

Vera closed her eyes and curled up. "You're wrong..." she whispered, tears leaking again from her eyes.

 _"_ _Vera! What are you doing?"_

 _The fox kit yipped and hid something behind her back. "Nothin'."_

 _Her big brother came over and turned her around in a no-nonsense sort of way. "You're not supposed to play with mum's necklace, VerVer. You know that. It's special."_

 _"But it's so pretty," she pulled it back around to her front, before her brother could take it. "And Mum says it'll be mine someday."_

 _"But it ain't yours yet. Let's put it back."_

 _The kit ran away giggling, holding the silver and ruby amulet out in front of her. "Catch me if you can!" she teased._

 _"Vera," he laughed and took off after her. Out the door to their den ran the two foxes, one young kit and one in the lanky stages of adolescence. Over the yard she bolted, her big brother right on her tail. She headed up the path that led away from their home._

 _Sarn caught her eventually, and she squirmed giggling in his grip. He laughed, "Gotcha, you terror. Come on. It's going to be dark soon."_

 _"Aww..."_

 _"Amulet, Vera." He held out his paw._

 _She pouted, "Can I carry it back?"_

 _He looked down at her sternly, then cracked a smile. "Oh, what'll it hurt? Sure."_

 _"Yay!" she took his proffered paw in hers and hippity-hopped down the path, the ruby necklace clutched tightly in her other paw._

 _He continued, "But you gotta leave it in the hiding place after this. What would Mum say if you lost it?"_

 _Halfway back, Sarn suddenly stopped. He looked off towards the sunset, nostrils flaring, ears twitching. Vera froze, knowing, even though young, that danger lurked in the woods._

 _"Oi, you there!" a strange voice shouted._

 _All at once, Sarn scooped Vera up in his arms and took off at a dead run back to their den. Vera threw her paws around his neck, amulet still clutched in her paw, and hung on. Looking over his shoulder, she saw dark shapes coming from the woods like ghosts._

 _Back in the den, he shoved the door closed. "Gotta hide, Vera."_

 _But there was no time to hid in their usual cubby where they hid when soldiers came to the den while their parents where away. So Sarn quickly tossed Vera into the woodbox. She lost her grip on the amulet and it clattered to the floor._

 _Sarn hissed, "Don't move. Don't make a sound."_

 _Then the door banged open and several burly rats in armor with drawn weapons filed in. Vera cowered in the woodbox, looking at her brother's tail through a crack in the slats. Words were spoken between the leader of the rats and her brother. She heard her father's name mentioned._

 _"What are yew hiding there?" one of the rats suddenly said, looking at Vera's hiding place._

 _Sarn hesitated, then moved, grabbing the amulet from the floor. He bolted away from the woodbox and Vera, leaving her alone and suddenly even more afraid._

 _She watched through the slats at the brief scuffle that ensued when Sarn tried to dart out the open door. Eyes wide, she watched as a rat ran him through with a spear. Sarn cried out, and fell. Blood began pooling beneath his body. The rat stuck him again and Sarn lay still._

 _The leader bent down and picked up the amulet from Sarn's clenched paw._

 _They turned to leave. The door slammed behind them._

Vera gulped down a sob. Off in the distance, she could hear cries and screams. Somewhere in this horrid place, former slaves and mongooses were fighting Captain Blade's pirates. Hylan was fighting.

She looked back down at the shells. How many of those beasts had little sisters back home? How many had brothers, mothers, fathers, and mates? How many had friends? Beasts that they loved and who they might never see again?

Vera set her shells down carefully, and untied the red sash around her waist. With no apron and no pockets in her tunic, she needed some way to keep the picture safe, and she'd need her paws for climbing. Using her teeth, she ripped a long strip from the sash, which she then knotted around the shells and fashioned into a necklace. She slipped it over her head and tucked it inside her tunic, leaving the rest of the sash laying at the mouth of the secret tunnel.

She picked up the torch and looked up the secret tunnel. Hylan had said the slaves who couldn't fight were taking the tunnel to the harbor. Knowing the condition some of those poor beasts were in the mine, they would probably need help.

 _I don't know what I can do, but Hylan's right. Blade needs to be destroyed. He's hurt too many beasts. I'll do what I can to bring him down and get the others to freedom._

END OF ROUND 6


	79. All the Hazard That is Run

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **All the Hazard That is Run**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

The jungle air turned from sticky to steamy as the morning stretched on, and Plink hurried along the stream. She had found the way through the tunnels by her fading mushroom's light, and had emerged near the tumble of mossy boulders where she and Scully had made peace, weeks ago now. She could not remember anymore why she had been angry with him, but she brushed away the thought and hurried on downstream.

There was no time to look back. Even now, the slaves were probably making their escape, and with nothing to distract the pirates from the harbor, Robert and Chak and the others wouldn't make it far.

Plink swallowed and examined the stretch of rocky bank before her, trying to remember if this was the right place. She tried to picture Tooley scrambling back into the brush, and the massive green bird holding up the stolen bag of coins. Up the stream a little ways, there was a steep mossy bank that marked the base of a hillside. Yes, that was where she had fallen, where Maurick had finally dropped her before he landed in the water.

Plink scrambled up the hill and tried to pick out the direction from which they had flown, but she couldn't see much through the thick undergrowth. Even if she had remembered the direction they had come from, their path had been swerving and erratic, and Plink had spent most of it hanging upside down from Maurick's talons.

There was no time for hopelessness now, though. Plink plunged into the foliage, not thinking about traps or snakes or mongooses. She peered up the trunks of trees, searching for a particular type of spiny vine.

 _"See how some of the leaves are different from others? That's 'cause they grow from different kinds of trees."_

 _Plink shuffled through a clump of leaves that had gathered in the ditch along the roadside, grinning. "Ma, how's a tree know what kinda shape to make its leafs grow?"_

 _"Don't know, sweet," Dampaw said, tugging her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders and hefting her basket in the same motion. "I guess they just figure that out themselves. They've got the time to think it through, after all. Trees can live fer hundreds of seasons."_

 _"Nuh-uh!"_

 _"It's the truth! You can cut down a tree an' count the rings inside the trunk, one fer each winter the tree's been standin'."_

 _Plink found a stick that was a good size to make a sword. She whacked the fallen leaves with it, sending them fluttering through the air. In her mind, they were Marshals like the ones who had made her and her ma leave the last town, and Plink was a dashing swashbuckler, blowing them away with her skill._

 _"You know, your da used to bring me plants he found on his voyages." Dampaw braced her basket on one hip and bent down to pick up a scarlet leaf from the packed dirt of the road. Plink stopped swinging her stick and came close to watch the leaf twirl as her mother rolled the stem between her claws. Dampaw slid her eyes to look past the leaf, at her. "Pretty little potted things, all well-tended an' flowerin'."_

 _"An' you left 'em all behind? On Terramort?"_

 _"That's right." Dampaw went on spinning at the leaf for a silent moment. "They all died anyways... I ain't got a touch fer green things. My people were... were traders, mostly. Not farmers."_

 _"Then why'd Da bring you plants, if you were just gonna kill 'em?"_

 _Dampaw smiled and finally let the leaf fall. "He loved me, an' I asked him to. Ain't no shame in tryin' to do right by livin' things, sweet."_

There.

At last, Plink spied a group of trees with their trunks thickly covered in the same vines she remembered. High, high above, she thought she could pick out the round mass of the nest, as well. It would be a long climb, but Plink had grown strong from scaling the wall of the harbor. She stripped off her red sash and, despite a surge of regret, bit through the cloth and ripped it in half, wrapping her paws in the strips. It wasn't much, but it would protect her from the worst of the thorns.

Then, hastily, she began to climb.

 _"Did Da kill a lot o' hares?" Plink whipped the high summer grass with her stick for a final time, then hurled it over the wide pool in the creek and into the sunlit meadow beyond._

 _The water was stagnant here, and it stunk, but Dampaw had insisted she needed to rest in the shade of the lone tree. Plink spun back toward where her mother sat against the trunk, pale and silent. "He did, didn't 'e? He was a great pirate an' hares are always pokin' their stubby noses inta pirate business, ain't they? So he musta killed hundreds of 'em!"_

 _Dampaw licked her lips. "Did I ever tell you about Colonel Bristleworth?"_

 _"No. Who's 'at?" Plink sneered. Still, she came to sit in the shade beside the bundles of belongings she and her mother had laid aside._

 _"He was a Waverunner officer when Atlas first started his war, got a fierce reputation fer killin' every pirate he ever met. Even the ones who surrendered, an' the captives who confessed." Dampaw shut her eyes as she went on. "Well, your da got wind that ole Bristleworth was at anchor nearby, an' you know what he did?"_

 _Plink glared down at the sour dandelion she was shredding between her claws. "He fought 'em."_

 _"Not outright. See, your da's crew was smaller, an' he knew a lot of his beasts would die in a battle against all those Waverunners. It's the captain's responsibility to protect his crew, remember, but that bloodthirsty colonel still had to be stopped. But your da was smart, an' brave, an' he came up with a plan. He boarded Bristleworth's vessel an' challenged that rotten ole hare to a duel right on his own deck, so nobeast else could interfere. They fought all day, an' long inta the night…"_

Plink hauled herself up onto the wide branch that held the macaw's nest and gave herself just a moment to catch her breath and listen. No sounds emitted from the tangled-stick hut, but there was a strong smell of smoke, as if a fire had died down in the early morning hours. Plink hesitated for a long moment, then drew in a great breath and crept to the entrance.

The interior of the hut was in deep shadow, and she could only just make out vague impressions of the objects within. Stepping softly to keep from rustling the woven floor, Plink neared the fire pan and the mass of rags and feathers beyond. She could hear the sleeping bird's breathing, the low rasp of his exhales, and as she crept closer, she could smell beneath the smoke, the sour reek of dead things.

Plink blinked hard, trying to force her eyes to adjust more quickly to the faint light as she scanned the gleaming lumps lining the walls. Any of these things would do, but she didn't move to take them. There was only one thing here that she wanted.

Finally, she spotted it, sitting on the floor by the bed - a nondescript little sack. Tooley's bag of coins.

Plink snuck closer step by softly creaking step. The macaw let out a long breath. She froze, watching, as he ruffled his feathers and shifted his wing, revealing a glimpse of the great beak tucked beneath. Then, he stilled once more.

She was so close now. It would be simple. She would snitch the bag and wake him once she was already in the doorway. It wasn't much of a head start, but it was the best she could manage. But first, she had to get the bag.

On all fours, Plink crept nearer and reached out one trembling paw.

"Harrk," Maurick rasped, his low voice filling the hut. When Plink looked up, he was peering down at her with one large yellow eye. "Here was I, thinkin' ye be too savvy t' show yer tail in me forest again, an' low an' behold but ye traipse right inta me very cookpot."

Plink grabbed the bag and tried to bolt for the door, but she jerked to a stop. Her arm was stuck, trapped in a vise. She turned back, already knowing what had happened, her body weighted with dread.

Maurick had her arm trapped in his beak. Slowly, as he watched her, he began to squeeze, and Plink knew he would sever the bones in her arm as easily as he had snipped through her tail.

She didn't think. She jammed her free paw in her pocket and yanked out the first thing she touched, twisting to stab it into that huge eye. Maurick's beak twitched open as he screamed, and Plink scrabbled for the door.

The instant she hit daylight, her terror eased. She was still gripping Tooley's bag in one paw and the bloodied charcoal pencil in the other, and she tucked both items in her pockets as she looked back at the shadows in the hut.

Maurick was cursing her and scrubbing at his eye with the back of one talon, but he made no move to follow.

"How'd ya like that?" Plink shouted with building enthusiasm. "Yeh! Think yer so tough but one little stick in the eye an' yew roll over like a pill bug! They oughtta call ya 'Dishes It Out But Can't Take It Maurick'!"

Breathing hard with pain and rage, the macaw fixed her with a one-eyed glare, then shrieked and launched himself toward her.

Plink darted back to the trunk and began a frenzied descent, watching from the corner of her eye as Maurick took flight and swooped down straight at her. The moment before he would have struck, she let go of her holds on the vines and dropped out of his way, catching a grip a short distance down and slamming her belly into the spiky vines. She hardly noticed the sting as the bird crashed into the spot where she had been an instant before, claws raking bark and vines for purchase.

Maurick craned his neck to glare at her and screech again. He began climbing rapidly toward her, but Plink had grown faster with practice. She was no longer afraid just to be up so high, and she shimmied down the tree just as fast as her pursuer. At the base, she leapt to the ground and raced at once back toward the stream. With a raspy cry and a whoosh of feathers, Maurick took flight to follow.

He dropped out of the air in her path, so Plink darted around a tree and carried on in the same direction. She knew what happened if she lost her bearings, and there was no time now for getting lost.

The brush thinned abruptly and Plink found herself skidding down the mossy hillside toward the stream. As soon as her footpaws hit water, she raced toward the head, Maurick thundering after her. She leapt over slick rocks and dodged around the thick roots of trees, darting into the bushes whenever the enraged macaw took flight.

Gasping and with a stitch in her side, Plink finally spotted the stream's source. She clawed her way up the bank and into the mossy rocks above, nearly throwing herself into the tunnel concealed beneath an overhanging boulder vaguely shaped like a macaw's beak. There, she ran a few steps more before coming to a tense stop.

Maurick was no longer following.

Plink crept back toward the bright mouth of the cave, listening close to the jungle sounds. A rhythmic noise rose up through the insect songs. Though she couldn't see him from this angle, Plink knew Maurick was laughing just outside.

"Ye wretch, ye filthy little dirt-lubbin' brat. Is it that ye think ye be safe in that hole? Or did _he_ send ye t' devil me? Curse his scurvy hide…"

Plink licked her lips and shifted from paw to paw. She didn't want him thinking this through. "This ain't about Cap'n Blade! It's about me takin' back what you stole from me, ya- ya crazy featherhead!"

"Be that so?" A shadow shifted in the bright forest beyond. "Well ye won't be keepin' it fer long, missy. Do ye think I found me way through those tunnels by chance? I know 'em better'n ye know yer own tail - or what's left of it, at least. How long do ye wager ye can stay clear o' me in the dark?"

A chill raced up Plink's spine and the macaw dropped into view, blocking out the light with his bulk.

"How long before ye take a wrong turn an' wind up trapped at a dead end?" His voice dropped to an echoing whisper as he bowed his head and entered the tunnel. "Ought I kill ye quick or let ye wander in the blackness 'til ye die from thirst?"

Plink began backing away, one paw on the wall. "Get plucked, ya big pigeon."

With a snarl, Maurick spread his wings slightly so his pinions brushed the close walls and advanced. "Plucked! I'll show ye pluckin', whelp… pluck ye straight out o' yer measly hide… Be more of a _peelin'_ , though…"

Breathing hard out of fear now, Plink turned back and began counting paces. She had been so careful when she came through with the dying light of her mushroom. Eighteen hundred and forty-seven steps, and turns to the left at sixteen seventy-two and two twenty-five. With her right paw trailing the wall, and Maurick's muttered threats cutting the silence behind her, she focused on counting back from eighteen hundred forty-seven.

Only, it was difficult to focus on numbers when she could hear his feathers dragging stiffly against the same rough stone that was under her paw. One second, he sounded like he was far off. He went silent as if he was listening for her. Then, suddenly, it seemed like he was right there behind her. Plink's hackles ached from standing so stiff for so long. She swore she could feel his breath on her ears.

When she had counted back to sixteen hundred and seventy-two paces, she reached across the tunnel, feeling for the crux of the sharp Y she remembered here. But all Plink felt was the left wall of the tunnel, flat and parallel to the one she had been following.

A wave of panic surged through her. She had lost count. Her steps had been too long or too short. She had misremembered the numbers. Whatever had gone wrong, she couldn't see to correct herself, and Maurick was closing the gap between them while she hesitated.

Plink rushed ahead along the left wall for a while, then switched back to the right. She stumbled and stopped counting for a time, then started again, cursing herself and trying to guess how many paces she had missed.

"Harr harrk… Ye be seein' the truth now, don't ye?" Maurick spoke hardly above a croon, and he sounded both close and far behind. "Ye be growin' frightened. Trippin' on nothin'. I could kill ye now, if I'd a mind, but ye put on such a sweet liddle show."

Plink walked faster, almost trotting now. Her breaths came in gulps. She counted her steps by twos and put out a paw in front of her, certain a dead end could come at any time.

"Aye, missy. Run. I'll be along directly."

Still dragging her right paw along the wall, Plink lurched into a stumbling run.

The tunnel went on forever. It began to feel as if Plink was running in place while nothing around her changed. Then, finally, she hit a wall.

Her paw struck first, but it afforded her little protection. Her snout hit stone second and Plink went down in a heap, pain bursting behind her muzzle and eyes. As she regained her senses, she heard Maurick chuckling as he approached.

Scrambling on all fours, Plink felt the walls around her, hoping this was only a bend she had forgotten, but it was not. Three stone walls hemmed her in, and the macaw shuffled nearer from the fourth direction. He would have her soon. He would tear her to little bits and eat her, and this would all be for nothing.

For nothing. The slaves would be recaptured and punished. Chak would probably get caught, too. And nobeast half betrayed Blade. Chak and Rob and Tooley, they'd all be in so much trouble…

Plink couldn't let that happen. She'd already let Crue fall into danger, had practically pushed her. Plink couldn't let it happen to the others, too. She had to take care of them.

She climbed to her footpaws and licked the blood off her snout. "Cap'n Blade's takin' all his treasure away, you know."

Maurick's talons stilled on the rock floor. "Ye honestly expect me t' believe that he could move all those riches? It'd take-"

"An army of slaves? Aye, they've been at it fer days now, haulin' it out a bit at a time. To a ship. He's takin' it outta the mountain - an' away from you."

"Ye lie. Ye'd tell any lie it took t' save yerself now."

"I ain't lyin'," Plink said, and swallowed. "Go see fer yourself."

"Maybe I will," Maurick said, stepping nearer, "once I've tied ye up with yer own guts."

She fell back a step and the rock wall jabbed at her through her jacket. "What if he leaves with all his treasure while yer wastin' time? I wouldn't wanna risk it, if I were you."

There was a moment of silence and Plink struck again.

"We're close to the treasure room. D'you smell the smoke from their torches? I bet somebeast's in there right now, gatherin' up the last coins."

Maurick emitted a low sound like a growl, and it was Plink's only warning before he lunged for her. She dove for the floor. His beak snapped where her chest had been. Plink scrambled under his wing, trod on his tail feathers, and ran. But, after a relatively short distance, she stopped.

Maurick wasn't chasing her, but she could still hear him rustling and scraping in the dark. Quiet as she could, Plink followed after the sounds.

She had lied before, thinking the treasure chamber was still far off, but it wasn't long before her sensitive nose picked up an actual whiff of smoke. Then, Plink spied a faint yellow light ahead. A yellow light through which a large shadow moved.

Maurick squawked up ahead, but there was another scream as well, more terrified than furious. The voice was familiar. Plink sprinted toward the light.

The source was a torch inside the treasure chamber, hissing and huffing as Vera swung it in big desperate arcs at the looming macaw. The vixen was larger, but Maurick made up for his size with his massive wingspan and the shrill volume of his cries.

"Ye filthy thievin' dog! I'll make yer scull inta a soup bowl, I'll-!"

"I didn't steal anything! I'm not a thief!"

Maurick snapped his beak at her and Vera scrambled back into a corner. She was trapped. Plink scanned the chamber for some way to help.

The treasure was not all gone, but the room was much bigger than Plink had thought. She had seen the foremost mound of gold by the faint light of a mushroom. That mound was gone, now, as were the crates of books. But with Vera's torch flashing and fading, Plink could make out golden slopes stretching up into the darkness and away out of sight.

The thing that grabbed Plink's eye, though, was the standing candelabra near the door. She snatched it up and, though the base was too heavy for her to lift, she dragged it across the uneven floor to jab the burnt-down candles into Maurick's back.

He whirled on her in a blur, sending the candelabra flying with a clang and buffeting Plink with the backside of his wing. She tumbled backward and struggled to sit up, expecting to see the macaw bearing down on her.

Instead, she saw Vera's determined look as the vixen slashed her torch across the distracted bird's wing. His feathers went up in a crackle of flame and Plink stared, transfixed, as he beat the wing futilely in the air, only succeeding in feeding the flames. The air thickened with the stench of burning feathers and screaming.

Vera had already raced across the room and grabbed Plink's arm, dragging her up off the floor.

"Come on! We have to get out of here!"

Still dazed, Plink let herself be pulled out of the chamber and two steps into the maze of tunnels before digging her heels in. "Not that way!" She pulled back against Vera, guiding her toward the dagger room.

"I just came from this way," the fox said. She was wincing and drew her bandaged paw out of Plink's grasp, though the rat hardly noticed.

"Trust me," Plink said as she wove between the stone knives. "This is where we need to take him."

"Take him?" Vera caught her shoulder and Plink glanced up at her incredulous expression. "You can't mean you're trying to-"

But behind her, Plink spotted the sway of embers approaching through the dark. She grabbed Vera's paw again and dragged her up toward the mushroom chamber. "No time, Vera! Come on!"

From the darkness at their backs, a screech of fresh fury announced Maurick's pursuit.


	80. If I Were Brave

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **If I Were Brave**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

The green parrot screeched behind them as Plink grabbed Vera's injured paw and pulled her through the tunnels. Vera hissed in pain, but didn't shake the rat off with the burning bird so close on their tails.

"I'll rip ye to bloody, red ribbons, fox!" the macaw shrieked behind them. "The both of ye! I'll slice ye down an' make meself a bloody bonnet!"

Plink led Vera back towards the chamber full of pale mushrooms. The fungi were scattered all over the floor, probably by the footpaws of the escaping slaves earlier. Hylan had told her to follow the mushrooms, but if they'd been arranged in any sort of sign, it had been disturbed.

"I hope you know where we're going," she said to Plink as she heard the scrabble of claws behind them.

"Blade's quarters!" the rat said in response. "Hurry!"

Vera scrambled after Plink as she led her through the tunnels. When she glanced over her shoulder for any sign of Maurick, her footpaw slipped on the sloping tunnel and she had to scramble to keep from falling and burning herself with the torch. Plink helped her back up and they hurried on. "What's that crazy beast doing here anyway?"

"I'm trying to help Robert!"

They cleared the tunnel and entered a larger chamber that smelled not unlike the slave quarters below. Plink immediately went for a rope dangling in the center of the cave and began to clamber up it. Vera looked back once. She could hear Maurick coming, but the tunnel was a tight fit for his big bulk.

"Vera! Come on!"

Vera dropped the torch on the ground and grasped the rope. She started to pull herself up, using her footpaws to help take the weight off her arms and wounded paw. Even so, it hurt almost as much as when Torin had tortured her. She grit her teeth and kept climbing. Blood began seeping through Hylan's hasty bandages, staining and slicking the rope.

Finally, she reached the lip of the catwalk, where Plink held out a paw to aid her. Vera nearly lost her grip going from rope to platform, but Plink helped get her there safely.

"Yer bleedin'!" Plink said, noticing Vera's paw.

"I'm fine. Let's go before that overgrown wood pigeon gets out of there!"

"Haaark, aye, run ye cowards. Just wait until Maurick catches ye. I'll line me nest with yer pelts, and use yer tails fer..."

Maurick's voice trailed off as Plink took the lead once more and they hurried through the empty rooms of Blade's quarters. When they reached the main door, Vera slammed it firmly shut and grabbed a discarded cutlass, which she wedged between the door and the floor in the hope that it would slow the mad macaw down when he finally got there.

"So tell me," she said as she caught her breath, "how exactly is that crazy thing supposed to help Robert?"

"I figured I'd lead him around the harbor to keep anybeast from botherin' Robert an' the slaves while they're esc-" The little rat stopped abruptly and clapped both paws over her mouth, watching Vera with anxious eyes. "Don't tell anybeast! You said yerself it ain't right, the way they got treated!"

Vera nodded, and nearly admitted her own role in the slaves' escape. Her paw twinged and she held her tongue, saying instead, "Did Robert know you had this plan?"

The ratmaid gnawed at her thumbclaw and eyed the blocked door. "I left a message, but... what if he didn't see it? They might all still be down there..."

"They're not. Crue's plan worked. She got those mongooses in Dead Rock. The slaves have been freed and we're getting out of here, which is what I was trying to do when I got lost in those tunnels." Vera began trotting down the hall, wanting to get further away from Maurick.

"It worked? How? Blade said..." Plink stopped and folded her arms tight across her chest, glaring off to the side.

"I don't know details," Vera said and hesitated when she noticed Plink wasn't following, "but all the slaves are heading to the harbor. Which is where we should go."

"No!"

Vera looked back. "Excuse me?"

Plink scowled at Vera, then at the floor. "I'm not goin'. I gotta keep Maurick movin'. He's my responsibility."

The vixen stared. "Plink, this is no place for you."

"There _is_ no place fer me! I ain't some smooth-talkin' fox who can convince goodbeasts she ain't vermin! I'm a rat! Cap'n Blade made a home fer us, an' I earned my place here! I ain't leavin'!"

Vera threw her paws up in the air, but the action sent a fresh stab of pain through her paw. She looked down at the strips of cloth over her claws, now all soaked with blood. Her paw was streaked red and sticky as well. The sight of it and the dull ache that accompanied it reminded her of just how bad things could get if you got on the wrong side of Captain Blade.

"Listen to me. You have no idea what Blade is capable of doing. He doesn't care about you, or anybeast else for that matter. That ferret cares only for himself and what he stands to gain. If he ever finds out you tried to help his slaves..."

Plink interrupted, "He ain't gonna!"

Vera clenched her wounded paw. "All it takes is one beast. Sometimes, it doesn't take much to get someone to talk." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "This is no home, Plink. Trust me. I know. Come with me. We'll find Robert and the others and we can leave this hell hole behind us."

There was a splintering crack behind them as Maurick finally reached the door to Blade's quarters.

"Hurry!" Vera held out her good paw. "Come with me."

Plink stared back at her, fists quaking at her sides.

The door banged open with a crash and the green and slightly blackened macaw burst out. Vera and Plink both bolted down the tunnel. Vera took a left turn at the intersection and ran as fast as she could. Then, the sound of only her paws on the stone made her hesitate and she glanced back.

Plink had gone the opposite direction, with Maurick hard on her tail.

Vera swore, turned to follow after Plink, then stopped. _What do I do now?_ She looked down the tunnel that would lead her to the harbor, then down the tunnel Plink had taken. She bit her lip. _This was Plink's plan, after all. She knows Dead Rock. She can lose him. She wanted to bring the bird here and she doesn't want to leave. I can't make her._

With a heavy feeling in her stomach, Vera turned and raced down to the harbor, past the bodies of dead pirates, dead mongooses, and an occasional bound pirate.

When Vera reached the harbor, she gazed over a scene of even more chaos. Across the docks, mongooses were fighting with the pirates. She saw more pirates aboard the ships, casting off lines from the dock. On the far right side of the harbor, she saw Captain Blade's infamous ship, the _Phantom_. Across it's decks, she saw the huddled masses of slaves from the sulfur and iron mines. Some of the stronger slaves were climbing the rigging and preparing to set sail.

Vera ducked behind some of the barrels, boxes, and random rock outcroppings that littered the harbor area and began making her way to the _Phantom_. She stayed low, not wanting to be seen by any of the mongooses or pirates, since either group had reason to doubt her allegiance.

She'd reached the dock that led to the Phantom and was about to make a run for the ship when the thudding of numerous paws on the boardwalk made her duck back down.

A crew of pirates approached, with a fox hollering, "Cap'n Blade promised us that ship an' no filthy slaves are gonna swipe it out from under us. Feed 'em ta the fishes, mates!"

Vera watched as they headed for the Phantom, then jumped as a familiar otter raced past her hiding place and dove into the water of the harbor. The ripples betrayed his position as Chak sped through the water and reached the _Phantom's_ hull barely ahead of the fox and his pirates.

 _Where's Hylan?_ She looked back down the way Chak had come from and spotted her friend as he stooped over the body of a dead stoat, pulling off the pirate's coat.

"Hylan!" She vacated her hiding place and ran to him.

He glanced up and his eyes widened. "Vera, what are you doing here?" He stood and grabbed her arm, pulling her back out of sight. "You're supposed to be somewhere safe!"

"I... I'm here to help." She jerked out of his grasp. "If you're going to fight, then so am I."

He stared at her, then began tugging on the dead pirate's coat. "You're not a fighter!"

"Neither are you! What do you think you're doing?"

"Disguise." He began buttoning up the coat. "I'm going to help Chak hold those pirates off."

"You're joking!"

Hylan looked over the harbor. "I don't see Robert and the others. They were supposed to be here, and they're not. We need fighters, Vera. I have to do what I can! Those pirates will slaughter my friends."

"I..." Vera watched as he buckled the belt. She didn't want to leave him again, especially seeing what odds he faced.

"Please, Vera! Get somewhere safe until the coast is clear! I can't protect you and the others at the same time!"

She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. "Then, I'm going to find help. Robert, or more mongooses, or... something."

"I'd rather you hid."

"No, we're in this together. I'll bring you help." She put her good paw on his shoulder. "But, please, be careful."

He patted her paw. "Don't worry about me, Vera. I'm not planning on dying until I get a decent meal to make up for all the seasons of mush I've been eating." He grinned and picked up a fallen cutlass and dagger. "Don't you take any risks. I want cookies when this is all over with!"

She nodded and backed away, leaving him to turn towards the pirates attacking the _Phantom_. She ran back up to the tunnel mouth, but stopped and looked back once there. She couldn't see Hylan anymore and she was left only hoping that he really would be careful. She swallowed back the threatening tears.

Through the tunnels of Dead Rock she ran, looking for Robert and his escaped Waverunners. The stone fortress had gone eerily quiet. She passed by body after body, but there was no sign of anyone who she could count on to help.

An enraged shriek echoed down the tunnel behind her and Vera turned and ran back the way she came. Maybe Maurick had found the Waverunners? She followed the sounds of his cries and curses until she spotted the brilliant green bulk of Maurick in the tunnel ahead. Then she heard Plink scream in terror and her heart dropped.

Vera stooped and picked up a fallen mongoose's spear. "Hey! Featherduster!" she yelled, which momentarily distracted the macaw from his prey. She could see now that he crouched in front of a small crevice in the rock, a narrow opening like so many that pockmarked the tunnels. She thought she saw, past the macaw's groping claws, Plink's gray jacket.

"I'm talking to you!" she barked and waved her spear. "Come on! You want to kill somebeast? Try me on then."

He turned towards her, glaring at her sideways with one of his pale eyes. "Haarrk! After the rat, vixen!"

"You're nothing more than a dyed wood pigeon," she growled. "Your mother was a sparrow and your father was flightless. Bet they dropped your egg out of the nest soon as it got laid rather than look at your ugly mug!"

The parrot turned back to her, feather's pinning around his head. "Ye got a deathwish, don't ye?"

"You're a coward and a weakling, Maurick!" she taunted as she started backing down the tunnel as an idea formed in her mind. "I'm going to see you gutted, roasted over a slow fire, and your feathers made into a headdress for the mongooses!"

The macaw rushed at her and Vera yelped and backpedaled quickly, smacking the outstretched beak with the head of her spear. Then she ran.

She heard the scrabble of claws right behind her and felt the flap of the wings breezing against her neck. She dared not look to see just how close the bird was. She just ran, terrified that she'd trip and Maurick would have her.

She burst out of the tunnels into the harbor, where she took in the scene on the docks in front of _Phantom_. The pirates were now split between fighting a few mongooses on the dock and the slaves on the ship. She saw Chak standing on the gangplank with slaves by his side, but no sign of Hylan. Something brushed her tail and terror gave her one final burst of speed, heading straight for the battle. She dropped the spear and cried out in her best imitation of a maiden in trouble, "Help! Help me! He's going to kill me." A couple heads turned her direction and she shoved through two mongooses and into the mass of pirates. "That crazy bird's trying to kill me," she screamed.

Maurick had stopped and awkwardly fluttered onto a stack of barrels and boxes left on the dock, where he shifted from claw to claw as his head turned this way and that, looking at her with one swollen, bloodshot eye, and then with the other clear yellow one. "Hah harrk! Well don't ye sing a pretty tune when it suits ye?"

"What's going on over here!" somebeast said and the fox she'd noticed earlier shoved his way through the pirates. "Keep them away from that gangplank," he shouted over his shoulder.

Vera moved to grip the fox's sleeve. "Oh, please help me. The bird..."

"Dremlak, ye old stoat-skinner!" The parrot crept sideways along the barrels and boxes. "Hand over the vixen..."

"Maurick, ain't seen ye since ye took some of the _Scumcutter's_ crew off treasure huntin'. I thought ye were snake bait seasons ago," the fox said, sounding disappointed that it wasn't true.

"Oh, please, don't let him have me!" Vera begged, true fear adding weight to her act. "The horrid things he promised to do to me..."

"Just shut yer mouth, vixen," Dremlak snarled. "I've got more important things t' deal with than ye."

"But I'm supposed to be with the other cooks when Captain Blade sets sail!" she protested, drywashing her paws.

"So, it be true. Blade be leavin' his fortress." The macaw took in the hubbub on the docks and fluffed his feathers. "Har harrk, an' here ye be, Dremlak. Loadin' up th' slaves like the glorified whip-swinger ye always were."

Dremlak jerked his head back towards where a handful of pirates still fought with Chak and the slaves. "They tried to escape and commandeer themselves a ship."

"An' a fine job they be doin' of it, especially them that's lyin' about still as death." Maurick chuckled. "Be ye helpin' 'em? Or more... overseein'?"

The fox bristled and Vera started to back herself away while the two talked. "Cap'n Blade ordered me to retake the ship!"

"No doubt fer lack of alternatives. Ye know as well as I what manner o' beast ye be, Dremlak. Yer a deckhand, plain an' simple. No captain could ever keep his crew rosy with yer strategic abilities... or lack thereof." He clacked his beak a few times and turned a pale eye on the crew around Dremlak. "Why ye all lettin' this deck swabber throw yer lives away? A couple slaves on a ship an' how many o' yer mates lie dead? Aye, I recognize most o' ye. Loyal crew o' the Scumcutter, ye were." Maurick climbed to a higher barrel, puffing out his chest feathers and assuming a casual confidence as if he were putting on an old glove "Ye've fought under me, mates. Ye know I value th' lives o' me crew, unlike Dremlak there."

A shift ran through the pirates. The fighting with the mongooses had been resolved during the chat, though Chak and the others still held, but now some pirates turned to glare at Dremlak.

"Aye, that's right, maties. Look at what Dremlak done to ye. Not even a captain yet an' already he be sendin' ye ta die. Be that the kind o' captain ye want? An' be he what ye deserve?"

A couple beasts muttered out replies and the divide between Dremlak's loyal pirates and those shifting to Maurick's side grew.

"Yer a liar, Dirty Trick Maurick!"

"Is that what ye think? Har har hark! Even if I did play ye false, I know how to command a vessel an' keep them that's on it alive an' in good fortune. Best we both stick ta what we know." Maurick cocked his head. "Or maybe we could strike a deal. Ye wish ta be captain? Name me yer first mate an' I'll see yer command go smoothly. I'll even help ye ta clear up that bothersome rebellion ye got there. What say ye?"

"I ain't making no alliance with a mangy bird like ye, Maurick. I'm Cap'n o' the _Phantom_ and nobeast'll take that from me."

Vera felt a paw grab her around the arm and she tried to shove it away. "Let me go," she hissed.

Maurick spread his green and blue tipped wings, which would have been more impressive if the feathers on his one wing hadn't been singed almost to the skin. "Dremlak's leadin' ye ta yer deaths!" he screeched.

"Kill the liar," Dremlak said on the tail of Maurick's words.

A handful of pirates turned on their mates and the confusion on the dock grew worse.

Now caught between two pirate gangs, Vera looked for an escape. Then the same rotten-smelling arm looped around her neck and pulled her back. She screamed and struggled against the strong grip. A big hat with a ragged red feather obscured the pirate's face, but she clearly saw the bloody dagger in his other paw.

"Let me go!" she screamed, shoving against him.

"We got bigger problems than th' vixen, you idiot!" Dremlak snarled at his crew member.

Vera got an elbow in her assailant's stomach and winded him. She fought free and, in the process, knocked the hat from his head. She turned back and stared in shock at Hylan's branded face. Her paws flew to cover her mouth as she realized what she'd done.

As Hylan straighten with a gasp, Dremlak said, "Serves ye right!" Then he looked again and growled. "Ye ain't one o' me crew... I remember ye! That no good slave what were always causin' trouble!"

"Vera, run!" Hylan cried and fumbled a cutlass from his belt.

Dremlak went after Hylan with his drawn cutlass as the marten stumbled back. All around them, pirate fought pirate in mass confusion. Some glanced at her, but she stood unarmed and nonthreatening. Vera turned as she heard startled squawking and a crash as Maurick's perch was upset. His next screech cut off by a horrid gurgling sound.

Vera turned again and watched as Hylan tripped over a dead pirate and went down, losing his grip on the cutlass. Dremlak closed in.

"I'll send ye ta Hellgates with all the rest of yer friends!" the fox said.

Vera's paw went to her throat and she felt the frayed edge of the remains of her red sash. Darting around a pirate and pulling the makeshift shell necklace over her head at the same time, she took an end in each paw and whipped it over Dremlak's head as he drew back his sword for a thrust at her helpless friend.

Snarling, Vera pulled back, crossing her paws and tightening her improvised garrote. Although pain lanced through her wounded paw, she hung on grimly as Dremlak twisted and struggled. His cutlass fell from his paws as he dug futilely at the strip of cloth at his throat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pirate coming to aid his captain, but Hylan had regained his feet and moved to protect her, driving his dagger into the pirate's back. He dispatched several more pirates while Dremlak's struggles grew weaker. Then Dremlak fell to the deck and his weight jerked the fabric from her bad paw.

The fox captain didn't rise.

As she stared at Dremlak with her shell necklace hanging from her trembling paw, Vera heard a cry raised across the harbor.

"Eulalia!"


	81. Justice is Blind

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Justice is Blind**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

Robert lead his army of slaves through the tunnels. They were an unstoppable force in their charge to the harbor, tearing through any and all pirates unfortunate enough to be in their way. The tunnels turned and twisted, leaving Robert thankful for Crue's knowledge. The beasts went about this for an achingly long time until Robert stopped short.

Worried, Crue came to him and whispered, "Robert, are you okay?"

"I thought I heard somethin'," Robert whispered back. Looking around, he noticed somebeast tiny scamper away into one of the side tunnels. Robert started forward, loudly muttering back to the squirrel, "I'll be jus' a moment, I think I saw somebeast run off that way."

Crue, still looking concerned, shouted to the rest of the crowd to follow her.

Robert hurried off to the side tunnel, careful to take note of the walls so he could find his way back. As he ran, he could hear little footsteps scampering as fast as they could through the caves. Sure of himself and what he saw, Robert loudly whispered, "Plink? Is that you? It's me, Robert!"

The footsteps stopped. For a moment, there was only silence, but then the pattering started again, growing louder in volume until Robert saw the young rat's head peek out from behind the wall.

"Robert?" she muttered.

"Plink!" Robert cried, breathing a sigh of relief. He hurried towards her. "Fates, you look like you've seen a ghost! What are you even doin' down here? It ain't no place for a young 'un like you, you could get hurt or. . ." Robert stopped himself. He didn't even like the thought.

"I ain't gonna get hurt," Plink snapped, lowering her snout and glowering up at him. "I don't need you or Vera or anybeast. I can take care of myself!"

Wary of her tone, Robert began to speak softer, "It ain't that I don' believe in you, it's jus'. . . I don' want anythin' to happen to you, lass. There are beast's fightin' to the death out here. I tell you, it jus' ain't a place for a young 'un. . ."

"You keep sayin' that!" Plink shouted. "That this ain't a place fer me! But it is! This's the only place I got!"

Robert watched the young rat stand defiantly in front of him, her fists white-knuckled and shaking at her sides. Robert put a paw on her shoulder. "Now that ain't true at all. There's the whole world out there for a lass like you, and I aim to have you live to see it. You don' have to stay here at all. In fact," Robert paused, the idea warming his smile, "when all this here's done, if it ain't no bother to you, I'd like it if you'd come live with me an' my family. We've got a home, an' it's got plenty o' room for the likes o' yourself."

Plink looked up at the hedgehog, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open soundlessly. For a moment, they stood there in silence, until the shouting of beasts from behind him reminded the hedgehog of their situation.

"Well, lass, I'm goin' to say it once more, though it be up to you whether you agree. Jus' stay at the back o' the crowd an' keep yourself safe. . ." As Robert was finishing, a movement down the corridor caught his eye. A shape was skulking in the shadows. An unfriendly, ominous shape. Robert's eyes hardened. "An' I'd suggest you do that now, Plink. I'll be after you in a second. Jus' follow this tunnel all the way back an' you'll be in the safety o' my crew."

Plink nodded, then scurried off, though pausing to look back for the briefest of moments. Robert managed a smile for her, then quickly chased after the shadowy figure once she was out of sight.

The mystery beast wasn't too far ahead of Robert, for he could hear the footsteps loud enough in the tunnels before him. Turning a corner, Robert saw it was a ferret. Straining to look closer, he saw the ferret wasn't wearing a red sash.

"Stop!" Robert bellowed, his voice booming through the caverns. The ferret turned another corner. Robert pounded his feet, almost sprinting to catch up with the beast. Once he reached the corner, Robert saw the flash of a blade. Reacting in the nick of time, the hedgehog only suffered a painful cut to his shoulder. It was now that Robert could look into the beast's eyes.

It was Blade.

Robert's lips curled into a snarl, reaching for his cutlass, but the ferret dashed away into a nearby hall. Robert followed closely behind. The hedgehog entered into the same hall, and finally stopped.

There he was. Robert finally caught up to the ferret. Captain Blade was trapped, standing in the middle of a circular space carved into the tunnel's end. Robert drew his cutlass, readying it to end the vile creature's life. The pirate king turned to face the hedgehog, a wicked smile creeping across his face.

"It seems as though you've got me cornered, hedgehog," Blade said. His eyes narrowed.

"Aye," Robert said bluntly, barely managing to muster a retort. His breathing was heavy, and his mind was racing too fast for talk. The time had come. He was about to kill Blade.

"Still upset I enslaved you and your crew?" Blade mocked.

"I ain't here for talk, Blade." Robert spat back. "I know you're all about that, but this ain't no time for it. I'm endin' you right here an' now."

Blade cocked an eyebrow. His grin became toothier, and the ferret threw back his head and let loose a cackle. "Oh you are, are you, hedgehog? Tell me, what's your name, Mister Goodbeast?"

Robert's lip curled. "I'm Robert Rosequill."

"Greetings, Robert. I'm unsure if you know this, but. . ." Blade paused, then raised his arms out wide. "I'm the Pirate King! A title not given t' me, mind, but one I have earned! And my reign was challenged once, by your Badger Lord, who if you remember, I brought down single-pawed. Now, what on this foul rock makes you believe that you can dethrone _me_?"

"Your shoddy form," Robert stated, edging himself closer to the pirate. A slight look of confusion seeped into Blade's eyes.

"And what exactly do you mean by that, Mister Rosequill?"

"You hold your cutlass like a Dibbun holds a stick, an' your footpaws be sittin' as still as rocks on a beach," Robert replied. "You cain't beat me like that, an' I'm about to show you."

Before Blade could feel insulted, Robert charged the pirate. He slashed at the ferret, who only barely managed to parry. The ferret fell back into the rock wall hard, and Robert saw the beast wince from the impact. Without wasting a second, however, Blade cried out in frustration as he swung his sword wildly. Robert backpedaled, managing to block the crazed blows with ease. The ferret's arm drooped from the fatigue, allowing the hedgehog an opportunity to lunge for the kill. The pirate dropped to the ground, scurrying on all fours to leave Robert's cutlass striking rock. Blade leapt to his feet as Robert swung around to meet him.

Robert raised his sword, preparing for another lunge. He noticed, for a moment, there was fear in the pirate's eyes. Then it was an evil glimmer once more, and Blade smiled. The pirate king dropped his cutlass at his footpaws. Slowly, the beast raised his paws above his head as he backed away slightly.

"You win, Mister Rosequill," Blade said with a grin. "I can't beat you."

Confused, Robert warily inched towards the ferret. "What are you goin' on about?"

"You are _truly_ a master of the sword, Mister Rosequill," Blade replied with a chuckle, his voice dripping with saccharine. "Everythin' I've learned about swordplay, I've learned from books, but books are hardly a substitute for actual experience, and I'm sure you have plenty of that. Swingin' your blade, cuttin' down pirate after pirate without a second thought. It must come naturally t' you by now."

Blade smiled, lightly kicking his fallen sword with his footpaw. It slid across the cold stone floor with a clatter of metal until it came to a stop at Robert's feet. "So, do it then. Cut me down."

Robert froze in bewilderment. "What . . . what are you . . . no! You pick that up, you bleedin' coward!" He kicked the sword right back towards the pirate, but Blade didn't even blink.

"What's the use? You've clearly bested me, it would be a mere futile attempt for me to fight back. Therefore, I stand here and graciously accept your execution, Goodbeast." Blade closed his eyes and theatrically waved his arms, doing a little bow as well.

Robert couldn't move, looking on in stunned silence.

 _He's insane._ Robert thought. His thoughts were pounding his skull, fighting tooth and nail against Blade's words. _Pirate's always fight to the death, I ain't ever crossed swords with one that didn'! An' a pirate ain't never wished for death, neither!_

Blade opened one eye and stood back straight. "Killin' is certainly easier when your eyes are closed, isn't it? Like those pirates. All armed t' the very teeth, I'm sure. And with your life hangin' in the balance, it was kill or be killed. But an unarmed beast? Oh, that's a different story entirely."

Robert's footpaws shook as he reeled from Blade's claims. The hedgehog's mind scrambled, looking for anything to say. After a few agonizing seconds, he managed to find the strength to shout accusingly. "Is that how you killed Scully? Eyes closed? Or were they open? You wanted to watch him die, ain't that right?"

"Aye, I did kill the leveret. And my eyes were indeed wide open. But this isn't about me, is it? We both know what I'm capable of. No, the question is, what are YOU capable of, Goodbeast?"

Robert growled, his patience at its end. "I'll do what needs to be done! An' if you ain't goin' to fight, then I'm takin' you back with me. Put your paws over your head. . ."

"No." Blade interrupted plainly, unable to keep the sick grin off his face.

"Do it! Or else I'll-" Robert bellowed.

"Do what?" Blade interrupted once more. "Kill me? Because, I don't think you will. A beast like you can't, Robert. Deliverin' justice blind is one thing, but when it's your turn t' string up the gallows, you good, honorable, beasts will always be the one's who choke. But, if you wish t' prove me wrong, go right ahead. Just, if you do, you'd best be quick about it, we've been chatting for a little while now and I have a ship t' catch." The ferret shot Robert one last twisted sneer, then turned and bolted out of the cave. Robert started after him, but his legs were weak. He barely got two steps before watching the pirate's tail whisk away into the tunnels.

 _I cain't let him escape. If I do. . ._ Robert's thoughts flashed to Mossflower. To Violet. To Maribel. Sudden energy surged through his muscles, and Robert took off after the pirate. He managed to stay on Blade's tail through wayward tunnels, hearing the fiend's laughter echo across the caverns. It wasn't long until Robert began to smell the ocean. He knew Blade's ship was near. Robert raced harder, chasing the ferret out onto the harbor, but he wasn't fast enough. Blade was boarding his ship, and he quickly signaled for it to pull away. It was too late. Robert couldn't stop him now.

As the _Zephyr_ set sail, Blade leaned over the railing for one last jab at the hedgehog. "And that's why you beasts will never win! If you want t' win, if you want t' purge beasts like me from the world, you have t' be like Atlas! His brand of justice is the only way Goodbeasts like you can ever get ahead of the likes of me!" The Pirate King reared back and laughed, filling the ocean air with his cackling.

Robert stood for a moment longer, dumbfounded and frozen in place as he watched Blade's ship drift further and further away. Moments went by, when suddenly the hedgehog began to shake, and a rage bubbled within himself until it finally burst from his mouth in a primal scream. He threw his sword, sending it off the pier and splashing into the sea. Robert dropped to his knees, suddenly drained of energy.

 _I couldn' do it,_ Robert thought.

 _I've failed._


	82. Blood and Bones

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Blood and Bones**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

The sea otter pulled himself up onto the deck of the _Phantom_ with a wet splash, hardly pausing to shake the water from his eyes as he made a bee-line for the gangplank. He pushed past huddled groups of beasts too weak or inexperienced to fight and soon found himself surrounded by a mishmash of former slaves preparing to face the approaching hoard of pirates. Some had spears or swords, but many had simpler weapons like wooden rods, shovels, or knotted ropes. Chak pulled the water-slicked axe from his belt and made his way to the front of the group where Reedox stood ready for battle as the last slaves limped slowly up the ramp. The squirrel held a dagger tightly in each paw.

"'Hoy, Chak."

"'Hoy, Reedox."

They tensed as the wood beneath their feet vibrated and soon the first of the snarling, roaring corsairs were upon them. Chak had to block a sword swing right away to keep his head. Reedox took the opportunity to drop the attacker with a quick stab to the kidney. Chak kicked the writhing weasel over the edge of the ramp and grappled another cutlass with the handle of his axe.

Reedox was surprisingly fast and efficient with his pair of daggers, catching a blade against the handle of one and spinning around to slash with the other. Chak chopped and blocked and bludgeoned as the pirates rushed them, while Reedox darted in and out between blows.

Midway through the battle, Chak's axe sunk deeply into the neck of a sea rat and stuck, leaving him exposed as he fought to pull the weapon free. A stoat came at him, brandishing a hammer, then fell shrieking with a knife protruding from his eye. Reedox leaped forward and reclaimed the blade just as Chak's axe came loose, blunt-end cracking across the snout of the next corsair.

Chak continued using the axe like a bludgeon, sending foes plummeting off the gangway, but soon his lungs were heaving and his efforts slowed. Fresh pirates took the places of those laboriously beaten down, and more and more of the brave slaves were falling from sheer exhaustion. The pirate captain, a fox, bellowed orders from afar, keeping his crew consistently at their throats. Soon they were driven back onto the ship itself.

A pirate's blade sunk into the beat-up handle of Chak's axe and he pulled the rat forward and off balance, wrapping an arm tightly around his neck and using him as a living, kicking shield. The pirates beyond paused, then a loud squawk carried across the water and a flash of bright green appeared at the end of the dock. The pirates paused in their attack, staring back at the giant parrot until the fox captain shouted at them.

"Keep them away from that gangplank!"

They pushed forward again, trying to skewer the otter, but Chak noticed they were being more cautious, as those at the rear were looking back, distracted, rather than shoving those in front of them forward. The jabs and slashes were more predictable and measured – enough to keep Chak and the other fighters engaged, but not enough to actually drive them back.

After a while enough noise rose from the dock that Chak and his comrades were able to make some progress again, driving the pirates halfway down the ramp as fewer and fewer reinforcements came to back the remaining handful of corsairs. Chak no longer heard the captain yelling commands, and he could make out the sounds of metal clashing against metal a ways off. Then a cry filled the air that set Chak's fur on end.

"Eulaliaaaa!"

The slavedriver felt a surge of panic until he heard cheers rise up from the beasts onboard. In front of him the pirates scrambled to see where the Waverunner attack was coming from, dispersing. Their captain was nowhere in sight and a large mixture of trilling mongooses and charging Waverunners slammed into their flank, cutting through the panicking pirate crew like a shining new sword.

"Robert," Chak said with relief.

Reedox panted beside him. "'Bout time. Didn't he leave long before us?"

Chak frowned at the squirrel, then shrugged, his breath still coming hard. "We dunno what 'e's been up against."

A trembling rabbit came up beside the otter and squirrel. He too panted, though not a drop of blood besmirched his pelt.

"We should throw off the gangplank while we have the chance and set sail!" He gestured for them to withdraw back to the ship. Chak surveyed the scene across the docks. The pirates were surrendering now in droves. He shook his head.

"Bain't leavin' anyone be'ind, friend. The fight be finished. Take a look."

A mousemaid came up beside the rabbit and pulled on Chak's sleeve. "We can't leave yet – my brother is still back there somewhere. He was a room attendant!"

Chak spread out a staying paw. "I said we ain't leavin' no one be'ind. Thar were a lot o' slaves Blade were usin' fer other tasks. Once the ship be secured, we'll go find 'em."

"That fox was Dremlak." A gruff vole stepped out of the gathering crowd of former slavebeasts. Chak recognized him from the sulfur mine. The vole jutted his chin in the direction the fox captain had been standing. "'He ran the mine before you came and he was promoted to Overseer. If anybeast knows where to find the other slaves, it'd be him."

Chak nodded, a low growl escaping his throat. "The guy _Torin_ thought were too violent..."

"Aye. A lot of beasts died under his paw."

"I 'eard tale that 'e once slew a mother's child when she didn't meet 'er quota," a shrew spoke up.

"Aye, that were Maura," a squirrelmaid added. "Ye remember her? Didn' last long after that, poor thing."

Chak shouldered his axe and turned to face the gathering crowd of free beasts. "I'm gonna go meet up wi' Rob an' the others. I'll see what I can find out. We'll be sure ta gather any remainin' slaves afore we take off. No rush now, I serpose, since Blade an' most o' the pirates be gone." He looked out over the water at the last ships gliding slowly toward the mouth of the cavernous harbor, following in the _Zephyr's_ wake.

Chak made sure a number of armed beasts were stationed around the edges of the _Phantom's_ black deck before leaving the freebeasts behind. Reedox and a handful of others accompanied him, though they were all just as battle-worn.

They made their way through several clusters of beasts, some grappling and fighting with mongooses, hares, and other woodlanders, and some simply looking for the nearest escape route. A small band of corsairs tried to assault them, but they held their own until Waverunners came to their aid, forcing the vermin to surrender.

Chak scanned the carcass-littered docks for beasts with quills and was relieved not to find any. Finally, he spotted Robert and his face split into a wide, yellow-toothed grin. The hedgehog was instructing a group of hares to his left.

"Tie 'em up good an' tight boys – an' double check 'em for hidden weapons."

"Ayah! Snekk head steel bite after eet's cut off!" added a mongoose beside him, directing his own followers to do the same.

"Rob! Grand ta see yer face again, mate. Ye came jus' in time." The sea otter reached a bloody paw out to clasp the hedgehog's tightly. Robert's grip was shallow, however, and his face cheerless. "Er… ever'thin' a'right?"

Robert shook his head. "Nay, friend. I fouled up." He glanced at the beasts behind Chak, then added quietly, "In a big way."

Chak waved Reedox and the other freebeasts off. "Go see if ye can find Dremlak, would ye?" They nodded and set off. Once they were gone he turned back to Robert with a concerned frown. "What 'appened?"

Robert did not quite meet Chak's eye as he related his confrontation with Blade and how the ferret had manipulated him so easily.

"An' then he just… walked away. I couldn't do it, Chak. He was right there, an'… I couldn't do it. All me life I've been trained not to kill an unarmed beast an' somehow… somehow he knew."

Chak's lips pulled tight, causing the prickly fur on his chin to stand out. "Aye, that be bad news. 'E be a beast what be better off in Davy Jones' locker, no doubt about that. Who knows what mischief 'e'll cause, loosed on the seas again…"

Robert clenched his fists. "We know _exactly_ what he's gonna do. He's headed for Salamandastron! You saw what his weapons are capable o' doin' – they'll be taken completely by surprise an' Mossflower'll be overrun by villains an' cutthroats! Life as we know it will _end_! Because of _me_! Because _I froze up!_ "

Chak growled low. "Mayhaps. But folk will endure. Pirates been raidin' an' plunderin' fer ages, but beasts keep on livin' their lives."

Robert's face darkened with a deep frown. "You don't get it, Chak. This won't be a quick raid or a battle where one ship is lost. Blade wants to take over everythin'. He wants to rule all o' Mossflower like he ruled here in this here mountain. Nobeast will be safe."

Chak sighed and looked away. _Politics._

"A'right. So mayhaps Blade be goin' after Salamandastron. An' mayhaps 'e'll e'en succeed. Order'll come ta the pirates again an' jus' like las' time, woodlanders'll be captured an' made inta slaves. I don' like it, Rob, but that be the way o' the world, mate." He shrugged. "Best we can do is look at what we've accomplished. All these slaves be free now. Thar be 'ope whar thar weren't any, an' families can be reunited. That be summat ye can be proud of." He clapped the hedgehog on the shoulder, but Robert's face remained gray and unchanged.

"I be thinkin' o' families, Chak. There are lots o' families livin' outside o' Salamandastron. Includin' me own. It's supposed to be _safe_."

Chak grunted, then looked away, stroking his fraying mustache. "I'll be settin' off 'ere in a mo' ta search the mountain fer any slaves what be left be'ind. Thar be quite a few what Blade were usin' outside o' the mines, an' we don' wanna be leavin' anyone be'ind when we finally set sail."

"When we finally set sail?" Robert suddenly looked alarmed. "Chak, we cain't wait for you to scour the entire mountain – we've got to leave right away! We've got to _stop_ Blade, don't you see?"

"Ye honestly want ta leave hunnerds o' beasts sittin' in chains?" Chak glared at the hedgehog, crossing his arms.

Robert gritted his teeth. "We don't have time! Look, the mongooses'll still be here. They'll be sure to search the mountain..."

"Those trap-settin' prisoner-burnin' savages? Air ye daft?" Chak hissed. "An' what do ye think a ship full o' tired slaves what could barely fight a single crew o' pirates can do against an entire fleet? An' Blade's ship what be armed wi' those… blastin' weapons? Ye think 'e'll jus' let us sail on up an' board 'is vessel?"

Robert's fur puffed out all over his body and his quills stood on end. "We've got to at least try!"

"No. We don't. I say we take these beasts 'ome whar they can live out whatever be left o' their lives. I'm gonna go find the rest o' the slaves." He pointed at the heart of the mountain. "An' ye can sail after Blade in a dingy if ye feel that strongly." He turned his back on the hedgehog and stalked away, adding, "It'd be about equal ta the task."

* * *

Chak made his way over to where Reedox stood, talking to Hylan and Vera. His nostrils flared as he took in the scene. The fox captain's body lay sprawled at their feet, unmoving.

"Dead then?"

They nodded.

"I'm sorry," Vera added, "I had no idea he was valuable in any way – I was just trying to-" She gasped as a cough echoed up from the fox's open maw and she kicked him reflexively. Hylan yanked Vera back to stand behind him as the other fox groaned and reached a paw to his throat.

"Watch him!" Reedox drew his daggers. Chak and Hylan lifted their own weapons as Dremlak turned over and curled in on himself, coughing and panting for breath.

" _Not_ dead." Chak noted with a frown. "Ye should ne'er assume."

Dremlak cursed and gagged again, rubbing at his swollen neck. He pulled at the decorative scarf he wore, but the knot at the back just tightened.

"Yer the beast they call Dremlak?" Chak loomed over the pirate captain, gripping his axe. The blood of other beasts spattered his clothes and fur.

"Aye, an' yer that turncoat woodlander bastard what loosed the slaves, ain'cha." He spat on the leg of the sea otter's breeches and snarled up from where he crouched. "I told 'em ye could ne'er be trusted."

The axe blade hooked under the jaw of the fox suddenly and Chak jerked up, suspending the overseer by his chin until his boots found purchase. The fox yipped pathetically as the curved point ground against bone.

"I'll tell ye one thing ye can trust, matey." Chak pushed his grisly face toward the wincing fox's. "I'm gonna kill ye," he assured the captain, then cocked the axe blade back a fraction, eliciting another yelp. "Whuther it be quick an' merciful er slow an' painful depends on 'ow cooperative ye be." He raised a brow at the struggling tod. "Ye fath'm?"

"Aye!" Dremlak barked almost pleadingly, and Chak dropped him back to the ground.

"Thar be other slaves what Blade were usin' elsewhar in Dead Rock, outside o' the mines. I aim ta find 'em. So, ye can either 'elp me, er I'll find 'em on me own. Either way they'll be found, but it'd serve ye better if ye contributed."

Dremlak swallowed, looking up at the sea otter apprehensively, though a glint of hate flashed across his eyes.

"Aye. I'll show ye."

Chak signaled the tailless squirrel. "Reedox, can ye gather a team o' willin' fighters ta accompany us fer one more rescue?" Reedox nodded and it didn't take long before he was back with a mix of hares, mongooses and former slaves.

Chak pulled the fox to his feet again and tied his paws tight before shoving him forward. "Lead on, ye crafty bilgedog. An' don' e'en' think o' tryin' anythin' _witty_. We got arrows on ye jus' itchin' ta slice yer liver er split yer gut-sack. An' ye know that ain't a good way ta go."

The fox glared back at them, then lead them into the south tunnel. The mongooses made scores on the rock walls as they went, and Chak watched the tod closely, expecting him to try something at any moment, but the trek was largely uneventful. They passed a couple of incapacitated pirates, felled earlier by Vera's poisoned scones. The mongooses tied their paws as a reassurance, but Chak doubted they were much of a threat since they were still laying in their own vomit. The otter suspected he and his friends all owed the vixen a great debt.

"Ye might be glad ta know," Dremlak spoke up after nigh half an hour of silence, "that all the slaves yer after be in one place. Blade 'ad em all put together ta 'elp move 'is treasure these past several days. Since 'e were plannin' on shippin' out, thar weren't no need fer cleanin' an' tendin' an' buildin' up supplies. The more 'elp 'e got movin' it, the sooner it'd be done." He stopped outside a large iron and wood door. "They be jus' on the other side."

Chak did not like the cool simper that played across the fox's lips. It was definitely a trap.

"You go first, fox," he snarled.

"If ye insist." He lifted the latch with an elbow and pushed his way through to a cavernous chamber that opened up into an even larger cave. The smell hit them all at once and several beasts puked where they stood. Chak too retched, but there was nothing but yellow acid in his empty stomach. Dremlak had ducked his nose into the scarf around his neck. His eyes glittered at the sea otter as Chak lifted his arm to his face, glaring past the fur.

Dremlak's voice was muffled by the cloth as well as a loud permeating buzz, but Chak could still make out his words. "Ye didn't think Blade 'ud let a bunch o' petty slavebeasts see 'is mos' valuable riches an' let 'em live ta tell about it?"

Chak looked out over the vast pit. Oil-fed sconces lit the walls, casting a flickering orange light across mounds and mounds of corpses. Mice and squirrels, voles, shrews, moles, hares, otters, hedgehogs, and the occasional rat and weasel lay stacked upon stacks of yet more rotting bodies, all covered in swarms of flies. Most had their throats slit. Some had their skulls partially crushed.

"We'd have set sail long before you lot boarded the Phantom if Blade hadn't _insisted_ we finish the job," Dremlak growled.

"Yer the one what _did this?_ " Chak's voice cracked as he fought to control himself.

The fox backed up a few paces. "Followin' orders, mate. Jus' doin' me job. Ye think it were easy?"

Chak blinked at the fox.

"I 'ad an entire crew workin' nonstop these past two days an' we still jus' barely finished in time. Probably why ye beat us so easy..." He mulled over the idea while Chak turned to face the sea of death again, unable to believe the waste of lives before him. Blade did this. On a whim, even.

"This ain't slavery. This be… _genocide._ "

If Robert was right and Blade aimed to conquer all of Mossflower, this was the future of woodlanders – not rowing ships or digging mines. Rob had been right.

Blade had to be stopped.


	83. A Merry Life and a Short One

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **A Merry Life and a Short One**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

 _There's the whole world out there for a lass like you, and I aim to have you live to see it._

And then that look, that gentle gleam in his eye, the soft upcurving of his dark snout…

 _When all this here's done, if it ain't no bother to you, I'd like it if you'd come live with me an' my family.  
_  
Plink's head buzzed and her chest ached as she stood with the wounded, watching the battle wind to an end. The slaves and mongooses had pushed the pirates back and met little resistance, now that Blade had set off from the harbor. One by one the pirate ships pushed off, rowing for the open sea with all they could muster. Soon they would all be gone.

And Plink would still be here, with Robert and Chak and Vera and, miraculously, Crue. It had been a shock, and then a pleasurable rush, to see the healer alive. Plink knew she was mere feet behind her now in the makeshift infirmary, tending to the most severe wounds. That was good, that was right.

But it was wrong that Plink was here, too.

She had failed to help the slaves. If it hadn't been for the mongooses, they would have been entirely on their own, because she was hiding in a crack from the beast she'd meant to use for a distraction. If it hadn't been for Vera coming to draw Maurick away, Plink might have died in that hole. If it hadn't been for Maurick, Plink would probably be aboard the _Zephyr_ right now.

It was even worse to think about how effective Maurick had been at cutting beasts down. All through the corridors, Plink had dodged around parties of mongooses and pirates, and the sounds of rending flesh and cracking bones had announced Maurick's passing. Probably dozens of beasts had died at his beak and talons. So much death… and all because Plink had brought him here.

"Hey! If you aren't doing anything, why don't you help me dress this wound?"

Plink turned around to find Crue watching her while she pressed a bandage to a hare's leg. The patient was holding valiantly still, but the wound had bled all the way to her toes. Crue raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"Are your paws clean?"

The question gave Plink a jolt. "N-no. They ain't."

"Then only touch this part of the gauze. See? Clear of the wound. Hold it while I bind it in place."

Plink crouched down and did as Crue said, but she couldn't look at the hare. Her eyes flitted around, finally settling on the hat the healer was wearing. It was distinctive, different from any other hat Plink had ever seen. She'd recognized it at once, but hadn't wanted to think about what it meant that it was on Crue's head and not…

"Where's Tooley?" The words came out faint, but the healer was leaning very close.

Crue remained focused on her task and it was a long moment before she spoke, but Plink didn't like the creases that formed around the healer's eyes. She swallowed hard, but the thickness in her throat didn't go away.

"He fell," Crue said at last. "Saving me."

Plink felt like the stone under her paws had dropped away and she was dropping right with it. Her friend was dead, and suddenly all of his annoying traits fell away and the good he had done for her joined with the wrongs she had done to him and together it all rose up in a drowning tide.

"He was very brave," Crue was saying. "I would be dead if it weren't for him."

Plink hardly heard. The last words she had said to him had been so cruel… She had called him an idiot. She'd said he was useless. He had saved her life that day when Maurick had them, and she had repaid him by turning her back on him.

Crue waved her away from the bandage as she secured it and Plink sat back, digging her paw in her pocket to squeeze the bag of coins. She had meant to give it back to him. Maybe even apologize right, too.

"Buck up now, little rat-chappess. Your friend was a right hero, donchaknow!"

Plink looked at the chipper patient and stared at the long scar down one side of her muzzle. She remembered this hare from the sinking of the _Silver Maiden_. This was the same hare who had been unconscious, and Plink had stood over her with a dirk, trying to decide whether to test the blade by cutting her throat.

Presently, the hare waggled her ears and quirked a brow. "Not the talkative sort, I gather? Bally good form! Can't abide a gabber, myself. Strong an' silent type, that's the berries, wot wot!"

Plink scrambled to her footpaws and hurried from the infirmary. Crue shouted something behind her, but her voice was easy to ignore in the clamor of the fading battle. All but a few pirate ships had launched now, the _Remorseless Lady_ and the _Deathblow_ slowest among them. They were all leaving.

And they were leaving Plink behind.

She didn't belong here. She wasn't a hero like Tooley. She wasn't a penitent goodbeast like Chak. She couldn't even live peacefully amongst goodbeasts like Vera could.

Plink was a backstabber and a liar and a sneak. She was a rat. It was ludicrous to hope she could live with a family of kind hedgehogs. She'd only muck it up and make them sorry they ever knew her.

No, Plink belonged with her own people. And right now, her people were in trouble.

Groups of Waverunners were boarding the remaining small craft and making to follow the fleeing pirates. They were even readying the _Phantom_ for pursuit. The massive _Deathblow_ was only now beginning to pick up any speed, and it wasn't quite halfway to the exit.

Plink set off at a sprint for the footpath around the harbor.  
 _  
Dampaw paused to lay her head back against the tree and the furrow between her brows deepened. She drew some heavy breaths, then pressed on. "An' when your da finally won, an' Colonel Bristleworth was kneelin' before him an' all the beasts of their crews who'd gathered to watch, what d'you think your da did then?"_

 _Plink ground her thumbclaw deep into the petalled center of the dandelion, staining her paws with yellow juice. "He chopped the devil's head off."_

 _"No," Dampaw said gently, finally opening her watery eyes. "Bristleworth yielded, an' yer da had mercy on him. He made those Waverunners all swear an oath to never kill another pirate, then he sent 'em ashore in their longboats while he scuttled their ship in case they decided to break their oath."_

 _"He shoulda killed 'em all. They wouldn't've gone huntin' any pirates at all, then."_

 _"That's true… But your da was smart. He was the kind of pirate who knew he didn't need to kill everybeast in his path to call the fight a victory." Dampaw smiled faintly. "There're all kinds of ways to win, my little buccaneer. The easy way nearly always costs the most. But if yer smart an' brave, you can always do right in yer own way."_

Plink reached the hidden curtain just as the _Deathblow_ drew abreast. She peered up the side of the ship, and saw a few beasts looking back at her. One of them had the boxy, wide ears of a cat.

As the _Deathblow_ shipped oars and coasted through the gap, Plink held up one paw. Captain Burnet, after a pause, saluted in return.

Then, Plink shoved the curtain aside and threw herself against the lever. It wouldn't budge. She tried pushing and pulling, but it was so tall that it was difficult to get a good angle on it. Finally, she yanked off her jacket and tied one sleeve to the top of the lever, hauling the other over her shoulder until, finally, with a massive groan and a fierce rip, Plink tumbled forward. Over the ratcheting of the chain rising up across the mouth of the harbor, she barely heard the voice of the beast who had come up behind her.

"What have you done?" Vera asked faintly, then louder. "What have you-?"

Her snout twitched at the same moment Plink's did. A cloud of fox scent washed past them both. Plink's jacket had torn apart under the strain, and the hidden pocket had loosened, allowing the vial to slip free and shatter on the stone.

Vera looked at the vial, then at Plink, and it was clear from the look on her face that she was coming to a terrible conclusion.

" _You!_ "

Confused and alarmed, Plink cringed back on the floor.

"You're the thief they were looking for!" Vera barked. "You're the one who made the treasure room smell like a fox!"

"So what!" Plink shoved herself up the wall, scowling.

Vera stabbed one claw at the shattered vial. "So I got blamed for what you did! I got _tortured_ because of you! This is your fault!"

"I didn't-!"

But Plink fell silent when Vera yanked the makeshift bandage off her paw and revealed the drying blood, the raw, carved-down clawbeds. It hadn't occurred to her that somebeast might get hurt by her efforts to conceal her theft, and now, as she stared at the consequence Vera had born for her crime, Plink felt sick.

Without a word, she turned away and dropped her eyes to the torn remnants of her jacket. Paws shaking, she methodically untied the sleeve from the lever and began gathering the objects that had scattered into a snug bundle. She avoided touching the shards of vial.

"How could you?" Vera said behind her, aghast. "Plink! How could you do this to me?"

Plink pulled the knot tight and stilled. Then she glared back over her shoulder. "It was an accident. I was stupid an' I didn't think about anythin' but savin' my own tail." She stood up, bundle resting against her hip. "Don't worry," she spat. "It ain't gonna happen again."

Before Vera could respond, Plink turned and hopped off the rock ledge, dropping into the water of the harbor. She kicked hard and held her bundle over her head, trying to keep it from the worst of the water, and emerged with salt burning her eyes and tender nose. Then, biting solidly into the cloth to hold it above the water, Plink swam.

It wasn't pretty and smooth like when Chak swam, but it took her steadily under the dripping chain and out into the open waves of the cove. Plink squinted against the brilliant daylight and, to her surprise and delight, spied a massive ship with its oars still in the water. With a new surge of energy, the rat swam out to the _Deathblow_ and mounted the rope somebeast lowered for her. She nearly lost her grip when the crew above began hoisting her up, feeling warmer than the afternoon sun could account for.

At last, Plink reached the rail and hoisted herself over to the sound of Captain Burnet's casual orders. "Take us to sea, Mister Uleng. I want this ship caught up with the _Zephyr_ before nightfall."

The pine marten nodded and spun around shouting at the top of his lungs. "Right yew lilly-livered bilge-baskin' flea-flickers! Shore leave's over! Get back ter work!"

He went on, but Plink was no longer listening. She was peering up at Captain Burnet, who approached with her paws joined behind her and an unreadable look on her face.

"You waited... fer me, Cap'n?"

Burnet gave her whiskers a twitch. "Are you hoping that I've grown fond of you?"

Plink knew the foolishness of such a hope without needing to be told. Still, sodden and raw at heart, she dropped her eyes to the deck and the puddles that had rolled off her. "No, Cap'n."

"Good. Tell me, why do you think I delayed my departure? Was I just that grateful for your quick thinking with the chain?"

Plink licked her lips and shrugged sourly. "You want me fer somethin'. Cuz I owe you fer not tellin' Blade about-"

Vera's injured paw flashed behind her eyes. Maurick, bloody and murderous and dead. The look on Tooley's face, the last time she had seen him.

"-what I did."

A different paw, soft and heavy as sleep, came down on Plink's shoulder. Burnet was smiling at her. "Smart little rat. You're right. I have a very special job for you."

With irresistible force, Burnet guided Plink to the stern railing. The crew had hoisted the towering sails up all three masts and the _Deathblow_ was surging forward in the steady wind outside of the cove. Peering out on their wake, Plink could see that they had already passed a number of smaller vessels. There was no sign of pursuit, and the island filled the horizon with dazzling green and sun-warmed stone. It might have looked beautiful, if Plink hadn't known what had happened there.

And yet, it pained her to leave that place behind.

Burnet peered off into the distance for a moment, then looked sideways at Plink. Her voice was low, and beyond the two of them, it was lost in the wind. "When we catch up to Blade, you'll go aboard his vessel and do as you always do. Run his orders, fetch his grog. You'll be his creature, as you have been all this time." Her paw flexed on Plink's shoulder. "But in secret, you will be mine. You will tell me everything Blade knows. And when I give you an order, you will do exactly as I say. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Cap'n." Plink dared not blink or look away as Burnet assessed her expression. At last, the wildcat spoke.

"Do you know what Petre told me?" Burnet watched her through slitted eyes, her whiskers twitching slightly upward. "He said your mother was an actual mouse. A gross exaggeration, no doubt, but interesting none the less."

Plink's ears scorched with the shock of the insult and she couldn't hold back a mutinous look. She shrugged off Burnet's paw. "My ma wasn't any mouse."

"Do you know the real difference between mice and rats?" Burnet stepped closer, forcing Plink to step back and crane her neck to look up at her. "Mice are just as cowardly, just as small, but every once in a while, one of them does something heroic and the rest of them just won't let it go." She narrowed her eyes. "When a rat tries to be a hero, it never ends well. Best you remember that."

Plink stared up at her, then startled as Burnet's paw settled back on her shoulder.

"I don't know where your loyalties lie, and I couldn't care less. Play my game to my satisfaction, Miss Plink, and I may very well make you my lieutenant one day." Her claws slid out, tearing easily through the worn fabric of Plink's shirt. "But if you cross me... well, that nickname the rabble have given you will become quite literal."

Burnet paused meaningfully, then withdrew her claws and turned to oversee the workings of her crew, leaving Plink stunned and shaken. "What nickname?" she finally asked.

"You haven't heard?" The wildcat peered back over her shoulder, smirking. "They've started calling you the Halfrat."


	84. Dirty Job

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Dirty Job**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

The flies were deceiving. Chak kept thinking he saw dead beasts move. He wished they would. How had he failed so abysmally? If he had acted two days earlier, would he have reached these others in time? No, more than likely he would have failed them all instead. The only reason they succeeded in driving Blade out today was because he had already been preparing to leave. With his treasure waiting aboard the _Zephyr_ , there was little to keep him anchored when things got ugly.

"So many..." The otter shook his head as Reedox joined him, holding out a rag. Chak accepted it with a trembling paw, wadding it against his nose.

Reedox's tufted ears flicked as black insects buzzed his head. He spoke around his own rag.

"They thought they were lucky not to have to work in the mines."

"I'm sure Blade woulda added more if 'is paw 'adn't been forced. None o' them ships in 'is fleet were galleys. 'E wouldn't'a needed any slaves. An' once 'e reaches the mainland 'e'll 'ave 'is pick o' fresh meat if need be." The sea otter glanced down at the russet-furred squirrel. "We're all disposable ta 'im."

Reedox cocked his head at his former slave master. "That's the first time I've heard you refer to yerself as a woodlander."

Chak grunted.

The squirrel craned his neck and abruptly pointed down at the pit. "There – I saw something move."

Chak's breath caught and he squinted in the direction Reedox indicated. "Whar? Air ye sure?"

"There, if you follow that long black shadow down, something's alive." The squirrel scampered off, rounding the pit. "See if anyone has a rope!" he called back.

At last Chak made out what the squirrel's keen eye had sighted. It was hard to distinguish what kind of beast it was, but it crawled, inching itself slowly across the heaps of dead.

"Ahoy! Who's got a rope on 'em, mates?"

Soon the rescue group had assembled a makeshift lifeline with which they lowered Chak down into the reeking pit. His first step sank gruesomely into a mouse's gut and the sea otter gagged, moving to stand on a different, fresher corpse. Flies rose around him in a disturbed cloud and he peered out across the mass grave, searching for that single, living soul. Then he spotted him. It was a weasel. Chak cursed to himself. A pirate. Not a single slave outside the mines would be saved.

He pushed on, more out of obligation now than hope. He had been a pirate. Most of his friends had been pirates. Some were decent enough beasts.

After several more sickening missteps, Chak finally reached the gasping corsair, seizing hold of his desperate, stretched out paw.

"I gotcha, mate." Chak hefted him by the nape of his blood-stained shirt. "'Old on ta me if ye cain." The weasel clung to him with a single paw, but seemed unable to support himself with his legs. His face contorted with agony as Chak dragged him back toward the waiting rope with no little effort.

The otter tugged some slack down on the lifeline and started to loop it around the weasel's chest. He tried to distract the beast as he worked the rope under the arm that was obviously broken.

"So who be ye, mate? An' 'ow'd ye end up down 'ere?"

The weasel grimaced, his breathing ragged and pained. _Likely some broken ribs as well._

"Name's... Rindclaw. Used t' be head smithy. Those in charge... don' take kindly t' aidin' an' abettin' an escapin' prisoner though." He winced and gasped as Chak tightened the knot on the rope. "I jus' hope...he made it out."

Chak tugged at the line to signal the others. "Aye, well, we'll be gettin' ye out leastways. May'aps ye'll find yer mate at the 'arbor wi' the rest o' the free beasts."

"His name was Del- Tooley. His name was Tooley."

Chak froze at the mention. Then the rope grew taught and the weasel began to rise.

"You know him! Did he make it?"

Chak met the smithy's pleading eyes and shook his head. The weasel's expression grew distant, and he sagged against the line like a deadbeast.

The crew up top lifted the weasel out carefully, then tossed the rope back down to reel the otter in. Never had the seafarer felt so glad to be standing on solid land. Flies continued to swarm him until he re-entered the tunnel, shutting the door to the tomb behind him with somber finality.

The mongooses repurposed the lifeline into a loosely corded net to carry Rindclaw between them.

"Crue will help." They stated solemnly, lifting the injured weasel with surprisingly gentle paws. Even the savages, accustomed to violence and bloodshed, were affected by the appalling amount of death they had witnessed. The rescue crew made their way back toward the harbor, following the score marks on the walls.

Chak made sure to personally escort Dremlak himself. The fox dry-heaved when Chak pulled the scarf forcibly from his nose. There was a reason the others were keeping their distance from the rot-smeared otter.

"Wha' – don' like the smell o' yer own dirty work?" Chak pushed the fox mercilessly along. "I'd think ye'd be used ta it by now."

The distance felt twice as long as they worked their way back to the docks, but the rescue group reached the harbor at last. Crue was immediately summoned, while freed slaves gathered round, searching for familiar faces and answers to hopeful questions. One by one they learned the awful news, buried their faces in the shoulders of friends, and began to mourn.

Chak walked past with Dremlak in tow. He searched for Robert, then spotted the hedgehog engaged in an earnest discussion with the frightened rabbit from the ship. As the otter approached the two beasts sniffed, then snorted with revulsion, turning to see what could possibly be the source of such a malodor.

"Chak! What in blazes…?"

The sea otter shoved the fox at the hedgehog. "'Old onta this bilgebag fer a mo', would ya? An' keep summat pointy aimed at 'is vitals."

"Alright, but… what _happened?_ An' what's that _smell_?" Beside Robert, the rabbit took several backwards steps, lifting his stained and torn shirt to cover his nose.

Chak paused. "Ye were right. We've gotta go after Blade." He continued on down the dock, then dove into the cleansing bay with a splash.

* * *

By the time Chak felt scrubbed enough to leave the water again, Robert had heard about the mass grave and the hundreds of dead slaves. He met the otter as he climbed back onto the dock, shaking saltwater from his fur and squeezing the excess moisture from his clothes.

"I'm sorry."

Chak glanced up from scrubbing at the back of his head. "Aye, we all be sorry, Rob. But ye know the one who really oughta be sorry be standin' thar beside ye. T'were Dremlak who o'ersaw the slaughter." The fox showed his teeth at the otter. Chak gestured at the former captain of the Phantom. "Ask 'im yerself if 'e be sorry."

Before Robert could say a word Dremlak answered of his own accord. "I'm only sorry that I didn't kill all o' ye landlubbin' bilge-suckin' woodlander slavescum. An' that includes _you_." He snorted, as if to spit on Chak again until the otter lifted his freshly gleaming axe. The fox swallowed the lump and snarled.

"I made ye a promise, Dremlak. D'ye recall?"

The overseer's ears pinned to his head and his lips curled. "Aye."

"I think it be 'bout time I made good on that promise." The sea otter seized the fox by the collar and yanked him toward the crowd of slaves gathered near the _Phantom_.

"Wait – Chak – what are you gonna do?" Robert followed after the two beasts, still gripping his cutlass.

Chak shoved Dremlak through the crowd, which hissed and growled upon sight of the familiar beast. The otter did not stop until he reached the other side of the crowd and had all of their attention. Several crates were stacked there and Chak threw the fox roughly against them.

"I expect ye all know who this scumbag be." He raised his voice so all could hear.

The crowd answered with a chorus of incensed "Ayes."

"Today be the day 'e gets what's been comin' ta 'im." Chak looked from face to face for effect. " _Justice_!" He raised his axe high in the air to shouts and cheers.

"Chak!" Robert grabbed the otter by the arm so that he turned to face him. "You cain't jus' kill 'im like this! T'ain't right! You'll jus' be stoopin' to his level!"

"Executin' innocent beasts ain't the same as executin' someone what deserves it," Chak scowled.

"You cain't deal out your own vengeance whenever you blinkin' feel like it," the hedgehog insisted.

"This ain't about me own vendetta, Robert. This beast deserves ta die fer what 'e done."

"An' it's you alone who decides who gets to live an' who deserves to die?"

"Nay, Rob. It be _them_." Chak nodded at the crowd and the closest beasts shouted their assent. "Them an' all them dead slaves what be voiceless now. Brothers an' sons an' mothers an' daughters, all dead at Blade's command. Dead at _this_ fox's bloody paw."

"I think you jus' like killin'. You've got a taste for blood an' you cain't get enough."

Chak gave the hedgehog a cold look. "Nay, Rob. Yer wrong. Ain't nothin' grand 'bout takin' a life. That be why this villain needs ta go. It be summat what _needs ta be done_ , don' ye see? What else d'ye plan ta do wi' 'im? Ye wanta try an' take 'im all the way back ta Salamandastron so they can execute 'im thar? It be these beasts what 'e's wronged. It should be them what 'ave redress." Chak's voice lowered. "An' what about Blade? Ye know 'e shouldn'a been let loose ta 'urt more beasts an' butcher more families. 'E's done enough o' that. An' so 'as this fox."

Robert winced at the mention of Blade, then sighed, glancing at the fox cowering by the crates. "I'm in charge, aye?"

Chak nodded once.

"If I allow this, it's on me. My responsibility. I might as well be the one swinging the axe." The hedgehog looked a little sick at the prospect, but he held out his paw.

Chak cocked his head, surprised by the gesture. "Ye don' 'ave ta do it yerself, Rob. It ain't the judge what allus be the executioner, ye know. Yer paws be clean. Mine… well… that be a different story."

Robert hesitated, then nodded and withdrew his paw, taking an intentional step back.

Chak turned back to the crowd, more somber than before. "Be thar any volunteers what would care ta 'old 'im still?" A slew of former slaves came forward immediately and Chak selected the two who appeared strongest. They bent the fox over a crate, pressing him face-first into the raw wood surface. He began to pant loudly as Chak approached.

"Ye think yer any better 'n me, driver?" He glared with one eye at the looming sea otter.

Chak paused, considering, then ran the thick part of his thumb callus across the axe head to test the sharpness of the blade. "Nay. I wouldn' say that. But thar be one key difference atwix us…" He breathed deeply and lifted the axe high. "Remorse."

The axe fell.


	85. Come to Tea

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Come to Tea**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

Vera felt oddly hollow as she looked over the freed slaves and liberated Waverunners. They laughed and celebrated on the docks, but all she could think of was her last sight of Plink as she paddled out to join the ships from Blade's fleet.

 _I shouldn't have gotten so angry at Plink. She didn't intentionally set me up. Mayhaps she would have stayed had I been more calm. Now she's back among those killers who'll throw her away as soon as she's outlived her usefulness._

She spotted Hylan, once more wearing the ridiculous pirate hat he'd picked up for his disguise. As she made her way across the dock, he threw back his head and laughed at something the hare next to him had said. That sight made her pause and smile. She hadn't realized until that moment just how much she'd missed that laugh of his.

Then he spotted her. "Vera! Just the vixen I want to see! Where'd you go?"

She shrugged, guilt weighing like lead in her stomach. "Nowhere important. Why?"

"Come with me. Rob wanted to see you." He grabbed her by her good paw and began pulling her up the _Phantom's_ gangplank. He led her across the deck and to a cabin at the stern. Inside were Chak and Robert, with the tailless squirrel, and Crue, who was tending to a badly injured, old weasel.

"...cain't attack Blade wi' the weapons we've got," Chak was saying as they walked in. "What's t' stop 'im from blowin' us out o' the water wi' 'is cannons?"

Robert turned to the weasel, who was somberly gazing at a familiar patched cap that he held in his paws. "Rindclaw, did Blade leave any o' those cannons here?"

The weasel nodded, but his gaze remained on the hat. "Aye. Doesn't matter, though. They won't work."

"Why not?" Reedox demanded.

Rindclaw glanced up from the hat finally, his eyes sunken and listless. "No black powder. Without it th' cannons aren't more than useless hunks o' iron."

"And there's none Blade left?" Robert asked.

Rindclaw shook his head. "Nay. He made sure o' that."

Hylan stepped forward. "But we've been mining and gathering all the ingredients for seasons now. Surely we can make more?"

Rindclaw winced as Crue dabbed a wet, strong-smelling cloth on a cut in his neck. "Th' ingredients aren't any good on their own, an' I wouldn't know what t' do with 'em. No one did. Blade kept his black powder a close secret, and only he knew all th' tricks t' mixin' it. Mix it wrong an' you could blow up th' whole mountain."

Chak grumbled and leaned against the wall of the cabin. "So we still be weaponless."

Robert paced back and forth in the narrow confines of the room. "There's got to be somethin' we can use."

The fur on the back of Vera's neck suddenly stood on end. She swallowed and said, "Do you need sulfur, charcoal and something called saltpeter to make black powder?"

Every eye turned to stare at her and Rindclaw nodded slowly. "Aye."

"I... may know how to do it..."

Everybeast present stared at her for several long moments. Hylan let out a weak chuckle. "Vers, I know you got a head for recipes and all that, but how in the seasons would you know a thing about mixing black powder?"

"When Blade went to get Torin, he locked me in a room in his quarters. I was looking for an escape, and found this little book. It had drawings for those cannons, sketches of the chain contraption for the harbor, and a recipe that called for sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter."

"Can you remember wha' the recipe was?" Robert asked, leaning forward.

She nodded, then Hylan began laughing.

"Oh, no no no," he said in between laughs. "Please don't tell me Vera knows how to make black powder."

"Why? What be wrong wi' that?" Chak asked.

"Ever heard of a flambe? Was always very entertainin' when Vera decided to make one of those!" He snickered. "Vera likes setting things on fire, if she can."

Vera squared her shoulders and looked down her nose at him. "I do not like setting things on fire."

"Just like watchin' them burn, then!" He hugged his arms over his ribs. "Vera... knowing how to make Blade's fire powder... I'm terrified for the rest of the world."

Robert raised an eyebrow at the hysterical pine marten, but said, "Vera, could you make the black powder if we get you the materials?"

She ignored the guffaws from her friend. "I can try."

"Tryin's not good enough," Rindclaw said, affixing a hard stare upon her. "I'll help you as best I can, but I need t' know-can y' do it?"

In spite of the dire warnings and the potential danger, Vera felt a little trill of excitement. "Yes," she said.

Rindclaw slowly began to nod, and his grip tightened around Tooley's hat. "Then we do it."

"We ain't goin' to have a lot o' time. We'll see if there's a way you can mix an' experiment safely once we get under sail." Robert looked to Rindclaw. "Do you know where the ingredients are stored?"

"Aye."

"Hylan?" Robert's tone sobered the marten up. "Get a few o' your mates together an' get directions from Rindclaw. I want the black powder ingredients moved aboard as soon as possible."

Hylan nodded, still grinning. "Leave it to me. Vera, you know about how much of everything you'll need?"

"Equal amounts of charcoal and sulfur, but about five times as much saltpeter. What is saltpeter anyway?"

"Privy waste, mos'ly," Rindclaw said bluntly.

Vera blinked, then cleared her throat. "Now I'm sorry I asked." Hylan snickered again.

As Hylan got directions from Rindclaw about the location of the black powder ingredients, Robert spoke to Vera, "You know where food stores are around here?"

"Of course."

"Can you get a crew o' your own together an' gather up food for our voyage? An' maybe get a quick meal together so we can eat something before we sail?"

She grinned. "I can definitely handle that."

* * *

 _This is more like it!_

"Dice all those carrots up fine. They'll cook quicker that way. Don't skimp on those onions, either. No, don't add the fresh herbs until the very last, once it's all cooked up. Overcooking will dull the flavor."

Vera paced around Dead Rock's kitchen, supervising the half dozen beasts she'd picked as kitchen crew. Another dozen or so worked on moving a selection of the mountain's food stores down to the Phantom. At Crue's insistence, the former slaves had all bathed quickly in the harbor and clean clothes had been rounded up before they set to work. Now they chattered and laughed together while Vera kept an eye on everything. Her paw had been freshly bandaged by the squirrel healer and though she had to keep it clean and dry, there was no lack of willing paws to help her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the mousemaid who was chopping carrots pop a piece in her mouth. The beast's eartips went red when she realized she'd been seen, but Vera simply reached across the table, speared a carrot piece with a claw, and popped it in her own mouth.

"Had an old boss," she said as she crunched the carrot, "that always said a cook that didn't sample their work at all stages wasn't fit to wear the apron. Just make sure _most_ of them end up in the soup."

The mouse nodded with a hesitant smile, and took another bite of carrot as she continued the chopping. _Besides,_ Vera thought as she checked on the hedgehog cutting up fruit for a salad, _when was the last time anybeast let you have something better than scraps to eat._ She would not begrudge the former slaves a single bite taken.

A short while later, she used a corner of her clean, cream-colored apron to pull a sheet of nut cookies from the oven. As she was moving them to a wooden rack to cool, her ear flicked towards the doorway. Somebeast was coming up the tunnel, whistling.

She braced one paw against the table as she briefly went weak-kneed. A few tears slipped free.

The whistling became song as it came closer.

"I've traveled the world but all I long to do  
is to eat all your cookies and listen  
as you tell me the gossip you heard in the store-  
can't say that I know any more than before  
but I'll share every story I've heard and then more!"

She glanced at the door as Hylan poked his head, topped with that ridiculous hat, around the doorjam with a grin.

"May I please come to tea?  
May I please-oh-please come to tea?"

His eyes went wide when he saw the streaks her tears had made on her fur. "Vera! Are you okay?' He hurried across the kitchen to her.

An awkward sobbing laugh slipped out. "I never thought I'd hear you sing that again." She noticed that her helpers made a point to not look at her, which almost made her more embarrassed.

"Aw, Vers, I'm sorry! I couldn't resist." He hugged her tightly, and a couple more sobs broke free before she could stop them.

She drew several deep breaths and pulled away, though loathe to leave the comfort of her best friend. She dabbed at her eyes and straightened her shoulders. "I'm fine. It's just been a long day."

He shrugged. "Can't argue there. Can I help?"

She motioned to the other beasts in the kitchen. "We've got it handled. Don't you have something else you need to be doing?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Got your new ingredients all loaded on the ship and then that squirrel friend of yours insisted on me getting cleaned up. Oh, what do you think?" He held his paws out to his sides and turned, giving her a full view of the clean white shirt, pants, and long red vest. "Pilfered it from a captain's quarters. A mite big around the middle, I'm afraid, but that's what a belt's for."

She nodded her approval. His fur still lacked luster and he looked much thinner than she remembered, but at least he was clean. "Better, but do you have to keep the hat?"

"Why? I _like_ the hat!" He swept the voluminous thing off and sketched an elegant bow. A couple of her helpers giggled.

"It almost got you killed."

"Only when I wasn't wearing it anymore." He plopped it back on his head. "Maybe it's a lucky hat, eh?"

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her cookies. They were cool enough, so she picked one up and tossed it to him.

He caught the cookie with a grin that would have fit the face of any Dibbun. "That's more like it. You can throw cookies at me any day." He took a bite and closed his eyes in ecstasy as he chewed. He swallowed and gave her a wink. "Sure beats a spoon."

Vera pointed a claw at him. "You deserved that, you scoundrel!"

The mousemaid laughed. "What's this about a spoon, Hylan?"

Hylan grinned at Vera, who tried to scowl but there was a glimmer of a smile on her face. "Well, it all happened back in my hometown. Vera worked at a little place called The Staff and Flask. I was about to head out on a little month long trip and decided to pop in and take a little snack for the road..."

"A little snack!" Vera scoffed. "A whole one hundred cookies this rogue made off with. Only crumbs left in the jar."

"And a tea cup, so she'd know it was me and not take it out on the rest of the staff. Anyway, a month or so later, I come rollin' back into town. I'd always start singing Vera's song as soon as I rounded the block. Sing the ol' "May I please come to tea?" line as soon as I walk in the door, just as I did here."

Vera jerked a thumb his direction, "Full of theatrics, that one."

"Aye, coulda been a traveling player, eh? Well, I shove open the door, belt out my line then, WHAM!" He slammed a paw on the table. "Nailed right in the forehead by a wooden spoon. Sailed clear across the common room and pegged me. An' Vers shouts out from the kitchen doorway, ' _That's_ for the cookies!' then turned tail and flounced back into the kitchen."

Vera picked up a wooden spoon and twirled it between her claws. "Of course, after that, it became a joke. He changed a line in the song to eating all the cookies and I'd throw a spoon at him when he walked in the door."

"Every time..." he said with a mock groan.

"Then the regular patrons began taking bets on whether or not I'd hit him."

Hylan winked. "I got faster."

Vera raised the spoon as if to chuck it at him.

"Ack! No!" he laughed, hiding under his arms. Everybeast in the kitchen laughed with him.

Later, Vera stood in a corner of the canteen with her arms crossed over her chest. She smiled as liberated slaves, Waverunners, and mongooses served themselves from the small buffet laid out before them. They dished up hot vegetable soup of finely diced potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and peas and flaky biscuits that melted in the mouth. Plates were heaped high with salads, both one of leafy greens and a fruit salad made from the bounty of the island. Of course, the small hill of nut-studded cookies was not neglected and many of the cookies grabbed were eaten before they ever made it to the tables.

She watched for a time, listening to the chatter and the simple, happy sounds of beasts enjoying delicious food and good company. Then she pushed away from the wall and took a couple cookies from the diminished stack. One went in the pocket of her apron. She munched on the other as she strolled back to the kitchen, a little bounce in her step as she went.


	86. From Bane to Balm

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **From Bane to Balm**

 _By: Crue_

* * *

 _"_ _The herb with the large, flat, dark green leaves could be made into a tea for those suffering from breathing issues. Use sparingly."_

Crue put her pen down before she placed the note and the bundle of herbs into a cupboard. She'd only encountered the herb once among the mongoose healer's stores and was largely unfamiliar with its side-effects. "I really hope it doesn't kill someone."

"What was that?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Crue looked and saw a shrew standing a few feet away. "Nothing! I'm just writing down a few things about less common supplies."

"Why would you need to do that?"

"Oh, just in case." She looked up from her work. "Could you ask Mister… Captain Rosequill to come here to the infirmary? I will look at his arm now."

"I think 'e's a bit busy, ma'am."

"He can spare a few minutes. Tell him I won't let him sail otherwise."

The shrew sped off and a few minutes later, her friend walked through the door to the makeshift infirmary. He looked tired, just as tired as she was. She pulled out a fresh bandage and brought over the yarrow poultice she had left.

"Can this wait, Miss Crue?"

"Mister Rosequill, I need to speak with you in private."

"Can it wait 'til we're underway?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Let's make it quick, then." He sat down on the table and let her tend to the wound Blade had inflicted.

Taking a deep breath, she announced, "I'm sorry, Robert, but I won't be coming with you."

Robert blinked a few time before asking, "Come again?"

"I… I said that I won't be coming with you." She gently spread the poultice over the cut before adding, "Hold still!"

"But we need you! We have some beasts still recoverin' and there's no one who could fix 'em up better than you!"

"The beasts coming with you will recover with rest and decent food. Some of the slaves _here_ aren't going to survive for long, and I can't just leave them." She paused for a moment, thinking about the beasts she'd seen outside. Former slaves reveled in their first tastes of freedom. Surrendered pirates were rounded up, their faces a mixture of relief at having been spared and trepidation toward what would befall them now. Mongooses rested after a long day of hunting, while others kept a wary eye out for any signs of danger.

"Robert, when we first left Port Hearth, we had a crew of strong, healthy, optimistic beasts running after the dream of ending piracy. This crew you're leading now, you're leading them onto a battlefield against overwhelming odds. Blade is probably not going to take any of you alive, and even if you somehow manage to defeat him and his army, you'll likely be closer to home and can find healers to patch up your wounded. If we're honest, having me around won't make much of a difference this time."

Robert sighed, rubbing a paw across his forehead. "It would make a difference, Crue, but if you have your heart set on staying, then that's your choice to make. We may not be back for a while, though, and you'd be stuck here. And if we lose, Blade may come back!"

"I know. If I can help the mongooses dismantle what Blade built here, perhaps I can prevent him or someone else from getting a hold on this island again. Then," she squared her shoulders as she confidently stated, " _when_ you come back, you'll have a more welcoming reception."

"Well then, heh heh…"

Someone cracked open the door and called in, "Rob, we're laggin' be'ind, mate!"

The hedgehog held up a single finger, calling for one more moment before he turned back to Crue. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?" When Crue shook her head sadly, he sighed. "Then I hope to be seein' you again soon, Miss Crue."

"Me, too. Stay safe, Mister Rosequill."

Rob turned back to assist the crew and Crue made her way off the _Phantom_. As she descended the gangplank, she heard his voice call out, "Listen up, Crue!"

She turned and looked up, wondering what else her friend wanted to tell her, but he was not in her line of sight. He continued talking to those on the ship, and she turned away before murmuring, "Oh, 'crew'!"

She and a small group of mongooses loaded as many of the gravely injured into a dory, planning on rowing them back toward the village rather than take them to the dismal infirmary back in the mountain. Once the mongooses were underway, Dekeft and Laika walked over to stand next to Crue. The left side of Laika's face was covered in blood, eliciting a gasp from the healer. Crue opened the satchel to pull out a small strip of cloth and a small jar of clean water. "Let me look at that."

"Ees fine, Crue," the Second Hunter assured her, waving a paw in dismissal. She turned to her husband and flashed him a grin. "Eet es a sign of a kood hunt!"

"It's the sign of a stubborn mongoose!" Crue retorted and reached toward Laika. "Let me look at it."

Laika gently grabbed Crue's wrist. "You hef keered for every beastah t'is dey. I can keer for myself while you rest."

Crue gave up and sat down on top of a nearby barrel. She wasn't completely finished with her day's work, but with the battle over and most of the injured out of immediate danger, exhaustion fell on her like a heavy shroud. As she was wondering how she'd manage to stand back up again, she heard the sound of canvas unfurling and the flutter of wind playing with the sails.

"Crue!" Dekeft exclaimed, "T'ey leave wit'out you!"

She watched the sails, dark shadows against the night sky. "I know. I told them I was staying here."

"Vat?"

"I told Rob that there's a great deal to be done here now that Blade is gone. The sick and injured to care for, something to be done with the pirates who surrendered… and…"

"And vat?"

"..And there were a few reasons I didn't tell him." The two mongooses sat down to listen. The image of Rindclaw clutching Tooley's hat flashed through her mind before she stated, "In the last few weeks, I've faced every fear I've had. I've become friends with better beasts than I had any right to hope for, and lost as many of them as my heart can take."

Crue felt her throat tighten, but this time she had no need to stop what inevitably would come. "I never used to believe in miracles, but somehow one managed to sneak up on me. Through everything that's happened, I've felt more at home than I have in a _very_ long time. Despite my lowly status as Shuga's slave, you and your people treated me like a member of your tribe. I was more than just among you. I was one of you."

She took another jagged breath before confessing, "And one other thing I didn't tell Robert… was that I… can't watch any more of my friends die! I just can't!" An ironic smile crossed her face. "I used to worry about people taking my possessions, but spending the last few weeks with nothing to my name," she looked at the mongooses, "my friends are all I have left, and if I lose one of you, I don't know what I'd do."

Laika put a paw on Crue's shoulder, but had nothing to say. Dekeft looked out at the _Phantom_ as it made its way slowly out of the harbor. He asked, "Eef t'ey not come bek, Crue, how will you know?"

"I won't."

"T'en you will be ef t'e tribe unteel t'ey come bek."

"Thank you, Dekeft." A few moments later she inquired, "Is there… a god that will watch over them?"

Laika turned toward her, the mongoose's left eye appearing even wider under the blood that covered her fur. "I t'ought you deedn't pray to t'e gods."

Crue shrugged. "I might have a reason to start."

 **END OF ROUND 7**


	87. Setting the Course

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Setting the Course**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

The mole's body slipped overboard with a quiet plop and sunk down into the depths. Chak sighed. The funeral broke up shortly and beasts returned to their duties aboard the _Phantom_ once again. Crue had doubted Tildy would last long and had told him as much. But he had argued for her to accompany them.

"Let her die in peaceful surroundings, knowing she's being cared for," the healer had insisted.

Though the mole had hardly been able to speak, he remembered how she'd gripped his shirt tightly with that heavy digger's paw, forcing him to look into her small, shining eyes.

 _"_ _Home,"_ she'd pled. And that had been enough.

Fresh, clean ocean air filled his nostrils as Chak looked out across the endless waves, claws digging into the black painted railing.

Another beast leaned against the rail beside him. Chak expected Robert, but found a silent Reedox instead. Robert was probably measuring knots and making small adjustments to their course again.

"Did you know sulfur burns blue?" the squirrel broke the silence after a while.

"Aye. Rindclaw were demonstratin' the mechanics o' the lanterns the other day. 'E said the blue fire were from brimstone."

"I can't stand the smell." Reedox rubbed at his whiskers. "I wish Vera didn't work with it above deck. I catch whiffs of it on the wind now and then."

"Better she blows 'erself up above deck than below whar she might blast a 'ole in the side o' the ship."

"Compassion just bleeds outta you, doesn't it?" snorted the squirrel.

"Arrrr, I be thinkin' o' the 'ole crew!" Chak started to defend himself before catching the smirk on Reedox's face. "Hmmf. Since when be ye 'avin' a sense o' 'umor?"

"Oh, I dunno that I'd call it that. More like, a seaborn illness. Hang out with these guys long enough and you'll catch it." The squirrel gestured at the crew on deck, former slavebeasts now sailors, tightening a sail at a new angle and reciting a merry diddy.

"Oh I've got a maiden awaitin' for me,  
Far beyond the gray and the troublesome sea,  
She's a merry lass with a gleam in her eye,  
Fifty coats rich and seven paws high!  
Away we go – home again – oh!  
Back to a land where the daffodils grow!  
Sweet is the drip from the wild honeycomb,  
But nothing compares to the comfort of home!"

Words turned to whistling as they finished their task and moved on to the next. Chak watched them join two others trimming the headsheets. Only a week before these same beasts were yellow-dusted, and vacant-eyed, defeated and despairing.

"Aye, they seem ruther cheerful after bein' through all they 'ave. Guess it were buried down deep."

"It's freedom." The squirrel jutted out his chin. "Freedom'll make anybeast sing."

"Yar. 'As been good ta 'ear music again."

"Sounds better when it's not forced, don't it?"

Chak growled assent. The otter's back hunched as he leaned both arms against the rail.

Reedox absently hummed a line from the tune.

Slowly Chak relaxed, observing the tailless squirrel as he looked away. "Been meanin' ta tell ye," he paused, waiting for Reedox to turn back again. "I'm sorry fer what 'appened ta ye… in the mine."

The squirrel twitched slightly, then leaned back against the rail and folded his arms across his chest. "I think I understand things a lot better than I did, now that I see how they played out. I get why you didn't stop Torin earlier. I even know why you let him carry on… later." He took a slow, steadying breath. "You were biding your time. You were thinking of the 'whole crew.'"

Chak nodded, hardly believing Reedox was able to see even that much.

"What I still don't understand though, is why you beat me like you did before all that. Especially when you obviously know how it feels."

Chak was quiet for a while, then answered carefully, "I were in charge. T'were me duty ta make sure all the slaves put in a 'ard day's work. If one o' ye fought me er broke the rules, I 'ad ta make sure ye were… discouraged from doin' so. I knew 'ow dangerous slaves can be. T'were necessary ta keep the peace."

"It didn't work." Reedox glowered.

"It didn't work wi' _you_ is all I knew. An' in case ye don' remember, ye did break the rules a lot." Chak looked down at the squirrel with a hint of his old reprove.

Reedox's glare did not waver. "Chak. You once beat me for _looking at you wrong._ "

The sea otter grimaced and studied a black splinter sticking up from the railing. "Aye…" He twisted the splinter free. "I knew ye wanted ta murder me then, an' it were worrisome. An' the only way I knew ta keep things under control were by force." He looked at the squirrel's branded face. "Yer a fighter, Reedox. An' fighters don' make good slaves. They be dangerous. I were afraid o' ye, 'cause I knew ye'd force me paw one day. I ne'er 'ad ta kill a slave in me life, an' I didn' want ter start on that course. I wanted ta believe I could be a fair an' good slave driver what slaves 'ud respect."

"No such thing," the squirrel muttered, turning away.

"Aye, I serpose not." Chak looked at his paws again and the scars that marred them.

"So basically what you're telling me is that you beat me because you were afraid I'd try an' kill you. And you thought that somehow… that would make me want to kill you _less_?"

Chak cleared his throat. "Nay, but I 'oped it'd make ye too afraid ta try. I 'ad ta let ye know I was watchin' ye an' wouldn' be turnin' me back on ye. That I 'ad the upper paw an' intended ta keep it."

Reedox frowned, looking out across the deck.

Chak sighed. "Look, 'ow else can a driver control o'er fifty beasts? Threaten ta play terrible accordion music if they don' cooperate? Ye think anythin' else'd really work? It be the way o' slavery, that's all. A way o' life. The only way I knew. I treated all o' ye the way I _wished_ I'd been treated. " The sea otter paused, evaluating the squirrel's stiff posture. "What I didn' account fer, was that all o' ye came from a much better place."

Reedox's tufted ears swiveled before he turned to look at the otter beside him. "Don't you remember where you came from before you were a slave?"

Chak shook his head. "I 'eard about it from me Mum, but it jus' sounded like a fantasy." He gritted his teeth. "Dreams o' the past be what drove 'er o'er the edge."

Reedox's gaze lingered thoughtfully on the grizzled seabeast. "So you haven't ever known a life outside of slaving?" He shook his head. "No wonder you're so screwed up."

Chak snarled, but Reedox appeared unfazed.

"No family, no friends to return to… just what do you plan on doing when all this is over?"

The sea otter relaxed again and shrugged, taking a deep sniff of sea air. "Beyond tryin' ta track down an' 'elp the families o' yer drowned galleymates… I guess I don' really know."

Reedox raised a skeptical brow. "How do you plan on finding everyone's families when you don't even know what their names were?"

The sea otter leaned his back against the railing, matching the squirrel's crossed arms. "Ta be honest, I were kinda 'opin' ye could 'elp me out wi' that."

Reedox scoffed. "I might remember a few, but… it was Nimbleton who knew everyone's names, not me." He paused when Chak's shoulders slumped, and lifted a paw to scratch his chin. "Though actually… I remember he did write them all down… on that memorial you two put together after the wreck. It was one of those rare moments where he openly defied you without you even knowing it."

Chak felt a virtual punch to his gut at the reminder of Minstrel's secret resentment, but at the same time hope filled his thoughts. It _could_ be done.

The squirrel cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. "You're really serious about trying to find them, eh?"

"Aye. I know it be too late fer apologies, but mayhaps I can t'least provide some closure. Learn a bit more about what kinda beasts they really were." Chak squinted at the squirrel. "What about ye? Air ye goin' back 'ome?"

Reedox nodded. "I used to be part of an outward patrol… which is how I was captured. Pirates came inland to grab slaves and we fought them to keep them from the town. I have no idea what happened to the rest of my crew. I'd like to know."

Chak was about to respond when a loud _BOOM_ shook the ship under their feet and a puff of black smoke rose from the far end of the deck. Both beasts rushed over to join the growing throng gathered around Vera's workspace. The vixen was cackling with laughter, which relieved the otter.

"I think it works!" She shook paws grandly with Rindclaw, who sat propped in a chair nearby. "Now we just need a pirate ship or two to test the cannon balls on. How close are we, Rob?"

The hedgehog, drawn to the explosion the same as everyone else, smiled warmly at the fox. "Still over half a day behind, but good news is we've found that elusive eastbound current I've been searching for. We'll be caught up in no time."

A cheer rang out from the surrounding crew, though Chak kept a sober silence. He felt lucky to have survived the last battle. Throwing themselves at a fleet of pirate vessels and the _Zephyr_ fully-loaded with cannons still seemed insane.

"I 'ope they be comin' up wi' a good plan o' attack," he grumbled, then felt a nudge from behind.

"I'll hold your paw on the approach if ya like." It was Hylan, grinning at him jovially.

Chak scowled. "I'd ruther be 'oldin' me axe, if ye don' mind."

He met eyes with Reedox and they exchanged a mutual nod. Despite the lingering wounds of the past, they would fight side by side again.


	88. There is None of You But Will Hang Me

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **There is None of You But Will Hang Me, I Know**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

"You'll cross as soon as they signal the bridge is secure." Though the wildcat's eyes were fixed on the rope ladder that sagged off the _Deathblow_ 's starboard side and swooped up the additional level to the deck of the _Zephyr_ , Plink knew Burnet was speaking to her.

The young rat looked over the rail and far below at the waves churning between the two massive vessels, and wished it wasn't so. After a three day chase to catch up at Blade's merciless pace, and another day hoping for smoother seas, Burnet refused to wait any longer. Although the ships sailed apace and the waves were not so rough as they had been, the 'bridge' wobbled and bucked between them. Plink could clearly picture her tiny body whipped off into the empty air, then down into the frothing depths.

Just beside her, Burnet's paw shifted on the rail and her claws ghosted out to bite into the wood. "You remember the message, Miss Plink?"

"Aye, Cap'n," she said, stealing a glance at the wildcat. Burnet watched her with an air of satisfaction.

"Then I suppose I will see you at the gates of Salamandastron on the day our bold captain blasts them off their hinges." She revealed just a glimpse of her wicked teeth in a slow grin. "A happy occasion - for most."

Plink nodded dumbly, certain there was a hidden meaning to the words and that she did not wish to know what it was. There was a wind-dampened call from the _Zephyr_ and, high above, a ferret waved his red sash.

"Remember," Burnet said quietly as she clamped a paw on Plink's arm and steered her toward the rope ladder. "Focus on your objective, or you risk falling."

This time, Plink did not need the claws digging subtly through her sleeve to make the hidden message clear.

"Aye, Cap'n." She fixed her eyes on the far end of the rope ladder and wedged the bundle of her belongings into her mouth.

The half-dozen beasts holding the lower end of the ladder pulled some of the slack from the bridge. On all four paws, Plink began the treacherous climb. The rope was sodden from spray and, when the bridge dropped out from under her and then surged up again, her paws slipped frighteningly against it. Plink squeaked, then dug her claws into the twisted fibers and bit down on the rags of her old jacket and pushed herself to climb faster.

After an eternity spent tossed about in the spray, Plink clambered over the rail and tumbled to the deck of the _Zephyr_ , soaked and shaking. Blade's crew ignored her but for a few sour glances, as if reeling in the rope ladder was more important than her appearance among them. Scowling, Plink struggled to her feet and wrung water from the tail of her shirt.

"Where's Cap'n Blade?"

"He be in th' aftcastle," a grizzled searat sneered. He muttered something more to the rat beside him and they shared a snicker, watching her with glittering eyes.

Plink scowled and stalked away. She didn't have time for their nonsense. She had a message to deliver.

She climbed the ornate stair up to the aftcastle and found Blade on his own beyond the helm, staring into their wake. He had a spyglass in one paw and rapped it against the brass buttons above the tail-split of his fine coat, quick and light. The soft _clickclickclick_ of impact was barely audible over the wind.

"Cap'n?" Plink stopped just out of arm's reach, clutching her bundle in her paws before her. "Sir, I've a message from Cap'n Burnet."

Blade neither spoke nor moved. Even the tap of the spyglass remained the same. Plink swallowed.

"Sir, she wants you to know… if the _Zephyr_ keeps on at this speed, the smaller galleys ain't gonna be able to keep up. They're fallin' farther behind every day, sir. An'… she says, with the losses in the harbor, the fleet is gonna be stretched thin to handle the Waverunner defenses as it is."

"Julia says that, does she?" Blade laughed softly and Plink had to step closer to hear him. "I don't need any of 'em. A loaded cannon is as good as any pittance crew o' stragglers."

Abruptly, he turned a piercing look upon her. "So, my little messenger found her way out of the Dead Rock, eh? You missed the _Zephyr_ 's launch. I would've waited for you if I could've, but there was a spot of trouble in the harbor… How did you ever get out?"

Plink did her best not to squirm under his stare. "I… I waited 'til our ships were out an' then I pulled the chain to stop 'em from followin' us."

Blade's eyes narrowed fractionally. "All those escaped slaves and mongooses, and nobeast bothered t' stop you."

It was not a question, but Plink knew he expected some answer. The truth itched at her, that the woodlanders had taken her for one of them, that she used to pass as a mouse. Those were dirty secrets, and if Blade heard them, if he knew what the other pirates were calling her, Plink knew he would not hold her in the same esteem he had before.

And now, with Burnet hemming her in with that other, more incriminating secret, Plink needed that esteem more than ever.

She half-shrugged, then stopped herself. "Beasts don't pay so much attention to you when yer small…"

"Mm," Blade agreed, assessing her as if in a different light. "You've lost your colors, Miss Plink."

"I-"

"Nevermind that now. We'll find new for you. Look at this."

Blade shoved the spyglass into Plink's paws and marched her to the rail, pointing at a spot out on the horizon.

"Look hard," he said near her ear. "Do you see it?"

Plink raised the spyglass and scanned the horizon until the shape swayed into view. A black ship, with black sails. The _Phantom_.

And aboard it, no doubt, was Robert.

Plink's gut twisted in horror. She had thought that the woodlanders would just sail home to Mossflower once the heat of the fight in the harbor faded. She had often imagined all those goodbeasts happily sailing home to their families, and it was like picking a scab - uncomfortable and a little gross, yet satisfying.

It was suicide for them to chase after Blade's fleet with just one ship. If they managed to close the gap, the pirates would cut them to shreds - if they even managed to get close enough for that.

"They've been burnin' my lights in the night," Blade growled behind her. "Have ye seen it? Off 'n on - as if they could fool me into thinkin' my own blasted ship was some ghost chasin' after me…"

Plink lowered the spyglass and turned to face her captain, but he wasn't looking at her. He was glaring off at the distant ship, his bloodshot eyes unblinking. Words came back to her, an overheard mutter from the _Deathblow_ 's bosun.

 _'E's rattled, an' don't ye doubt it. I'd lay me last coin on it - if that galleon was sailin' light, Blade'd be over the horizon without the lot o' us._

Plink didn't like the idea of Blade being frightened. It made her nervous, as if the ground was uncertain beneath her. She held out the spyglass and Blade took it automatically, grimacing as he shut one eye to glare through it. Plink licked her lips and squeezed her bundle. "What're you gonna do, Cap'n?"

"I should circle back an' sink 'er, that's what I ought t' do." His muzzle twitched, baring his fangs. "Better she goes t' the locker in a hundred pieces an' takes that horde o' slaves with 'er."

It would please Burnet if he did turn back, closing the gaps in the fleet, but Plink spared no thought for the wildcat.

"But-! What- what about Salamandastron, Cap'n? Ain't we gettin' close? What if they heard the cannons?"

"We're still days out," Blade said, but then lowered the spyglass and looked at Plink, a smirk stealing onto his handsome face. "You have a point, though. Why waste my time and ammunition on half-dead rabble when there's a fleet of Waverunners beggin' t' be sunk?"

He clapped her on the shoulder and she staggered a step but smiled gamely anyway. This was what she had dreamed of, after all. An adventure. Battles with self-righteous goodbeasts and sailing headlong into the fray under a captain she could admire. A captain who valued her.

And yet, Blade's eyes slid back to the horizon. "I've a thirst, Miss Plink. Go down t' the hold and fetch me a flagon of summer wine. And see if you can find some proper clothes while you're down there. You're looking ragged as a street urchin, and that won't do for the personal attendant of Captain Blade."

"Aye, Cap'n," Plink said, and hurried below.

It was strange, being back aboard the _Zephyr_ now that it was sailed by an entirely different crew. On the one paw, Plink glowed with pride and a drop of spiteful glee to be part of the pirate crew that took command of Atlas's own ship. Finally, she could stroll openly down the corridors and pass other beasts with the confidence of one who belonged.

Yet, the ship had certainly been nicer with goodbeasts around to sweep up the messes and keep things in their proper places. Plink went through the jumbled contents of three ransacked supply cabinets before she found a needle and thread. The pantry floor was littered with spoiled food scraps and the entire level beneath the main deck had been torn apart with the installation of the cannons. It reeked of black powder and greased steel.

That, and the pirates she passed went quiet and watched her go by. Some smirked knowingly, some scowled or looked unnerved by her presence, but she could tell that they all knew her name, and they all knew she had been informing on them to Blade.

Finally, Plink made her way down to the hold and began sifting through the disordered contents of each chamber, searching for barrels of wine or spare clothes. She found a heap of discarded Waverunner uniforms, most of which were torn apart and useless. Many had bloodstains darkening the blue cloth. Plink tried not to think about where they had all come from.

At last, she found a salvageable shirt that was near her size and a brown sailor's coat with deep pockets and only a few stains around the cuffed sleeves. In a hurry to find the wine and get back to Blade, she peeled off her tattered old shirt and replaced it with the new one, then shrugged into the brown coat.

Immediately, Plink hated it. It was too loose in the shoulders and it hung only to her hips, and for all that the pockets were deep and had buttoned flaps that would keep her things in, they didn't feel right to her paws. The cloth was thick and new, not pliable the way her old jacket had been.

Plink crouched down and untied the bundle. Perhaps she could fix the damage after all. She placed the items in a neat row along the edge of a crate: a silver button, a bag of gold, a dogeared blue book, a charcoal pencil. There had been other things in her pockets, pretty stones and a stolen embroidered handkerchief, but she had left them scattered on the harbor. They weren't important enough to keep.

Plink spread out the jacket across her legs and examined it. One sleeve was almost completely detached, hanging just by the seam of the shoulder. The torso was ripped as well, all across the back in a ragged diagonal. The edges of the cloth were frayed and threadbare. There was little left to sew together.

But near the nape, stitched tidily into the inside liner, there were three yellow hearts.

 _"Ma! What if somebeast sees? Pirates' mas don't sew hearts in their clothes!"_

 _"Now settle down. Nobeast'll ever see 'em unless you go an' point it out," Dampaw said as she backstitched the final time and bit through the thread. She held up the new little jacket to admire her handiwork, the clean hems, the unblemished fabric. "But you'll know they're there, an' that yer ma loves you. It'll keep you warmer that way."_

Plink ran her thumbpad across the three hearts, across the strong shoulder seams and the blood stain from where Burnet had shoved her and that stoat had almost run her through. She wondered if her ma would still love her, if she knew all the things Plink had done, had failed to do.

With a sigh, the little rat laid the ruined jacket aside and gathered her things into the pockets of her new coat, staring at the heap of abandoned uniforms. Burnet would discard her as easily as that, she knew, and never mind any promises she might make in the mean time.

Perhaps, if Plink told Blade that one of his most trusted captains was scheming against him, he would sink the _Deathblow_ without bothering to talk to the wildcat, but that was a big risk. Burnet would take Plink down instead with just a few words and that flashing diamond.

But that didn't mean that Plink had to stand by and helplessly wait for Burnet to make her move against Blade. There had to be something she could do to protect him. She just had to be smart and brave and she would find the right way.

Plink finally found the wine in the store room where winter squash and crates of potatoes had once been kept. She poured a flagon from the tapped barrel and had taken three steps down the corridor for the stairs when she heard a hoarse voice coming from the brig behind her.

"You there. Please, would you bring me some water? I'm so thirsty…"

Plink peered down the lantern-lit hallway and into the chamber at the end. She could see the bars gleaming, but beyond them there were only shadows. Still, though she could see nothing of the beast and the voice was strangled with thirst, Plink could sense that it came from a large throat.

Not daring yet to speak, she pattered closer, craning her neck to see more of the brig.

"Please," he said again. "I think they've forgotten me. I haven't had food or water for… it must be two days, now."

Plink poked her head through the door, taking in the wall of bars that divided the room, the securely locked door, the dark mountain of a beast inside.

"Don't be afraid," Atlas croaked. His massive striped head quaked slowly side-to-side. "Please… little rat. I am not well."

Even to Plink's unschooled eye, he didn't look it. His fur was fouled and lusterless and did nothing to hide the sickly shriveling of his body. The smell in the brig, even after just three days, was vile and poignant. She remembered the pit smelling bad, but more of rotten food than this, the smell of starvation and illness.

And despite the horror of the badgerlord's ruined body, despite the conspicuous absence of his mad rage, Plink found she was not afraid. Her own throat closed and she scurried from the room, only to come back a moment later with a pitcher of freshwater and a lump of hardtack.

"Come on," she murmured as she held the water through the bars toward him. The tone of her own voice surprised her, and she cleared her throat, reminding herself who this was. Perhaps he seemed like an invalid, but he was still the unpredictable monster who tried to kill her. Plink readied herself to spring back in case he should lunge for her. "I ain't gonna hold it all day."

Atlas reached out, his paw swaying side-to-side in her direction until his claws bumped the earthenware vessel and closed around it. Plink backed away and watched him gulp down the contents.

"Yer gonna get sick like that."

He stopped drinking and sat back against the hull, breathing heavily. "Thank you."

"S'nothin'." She didn't like him like this - not that she'd liked him before, but at least as a raving murderer he had made sense. He was simple, an enemy. Now, Plink found a terrible thread of sympathy tightening, cutting into her. Suddenly embarrassed, she rolled the hardtack across the grimy floor toward him and turned to go.

"I'm sorry," Atlas said, stilted and tense, "for what I almost did to you."

Plink paused in the doorway and looked back. The badger's snout hung low, his scarred brow furrowed in thought.

"You were the stowaway, weren't you? Your voice… I don't remember much clearly from the bloodwrath, but some things stuck. I can still hear you pleading for your life."

Plink glowered and crossed her arms tight over her chest. "Yeah, well, looks like you got what was comin' to you, doesn't it?"

"This is not half what I deserve."

The words startled her, and they drew her back into the room like the lyrics of a familiar song. She took a step nearer.

"For seasons now, I have thought of myself as a blacksmith, forging a sea pure of evil and greed. And now I look back with a clear mind, and I realize I was nothing but a hammer, beating foe and friend alike with the same ruthlessness."

Plink stopped near the bars, watching his blind face twist in pain.

"You were just a child, and I would have murdered you for a thief and a spy."

"It ain't like you were wrong," she said after a silent beat. "I stole from yer crew, an' I did things just to cause trouble. Stealin' buttons an' food an' switching' beasts' uniforms so they wouldn't fit the next day."

"A child's pranks. Not crimes deserving the sort of punishment I would have dealt you."

Plink glared at her gnawed-down thumbclaw. "In the Dead Rock, I did worse. Told Cap'n Blade every secret I ever heard. I nearly got Crue an' Vera killed an'… an' it might've been my fault Tooley died, too." She blinked hard and glared at the ceiling. "An' I sure got Maurick killed. Even if he was a crazy old cannibal, he was still a beast who was alive before I mucked him over."

Atlas nodded, rolling the pitcher between his big paws. "Remorse is a terrible thing. But the lack of it is worse, Miss. Without it, we can allow ourselves to do unspeakable things and not even realize that it is happening."

Plink sneered. "It ain't like feelin' bad changes the way things went. How's it make any difference?"

"If you had it to do again, would you repeat all the choices you have made?" Atlas paused a moment and Plink's mind flitted from one mistake to another in the incriminating silence. At last, he went on. "I will tell you now, I would not repeat a great many of my choices over the past few seasons. It is a gift that you can look back on the things you've done and decide which ones were not right. Not many of your current compatriots share that gift, or understand it."

Plink eyed him, not sure whether she should be offended or not. "You think they _can't_? 'Cause they're vermin?"

Atlas shrugged his massive shoulders. "I do not know. Perhaps it is only that they have never been encouraged to try."

Both were quiet for a moment, thoughtful, and Plink could hear somebeast shouting someplace far off. She remembered the flagon of wine, still waiting in the corridor. "I have to go," she said, already half-way out the door. She paused, looked back over her shoulder. "I might come back."

Atlas patted the floor beside him until he found the hardtack. "I hope you will," he said, and Plink had the feeling that he meant it, and not simply for food and water. She hurried from the brig without saying goodbye, but as she headed back toward the stairs, she stopped in the room with the heap of uniforms. With a torn-out square of worn fabric carefully folded in her pocket, she collected the wine and returned to the main deck.

Blade stood just where she had left him, though presently he was rapping off orders to the boatswain, a weasel Plink had once overheard discussing the treasure with a skinny searat on the harbor. Surg, she remembered, was his name. He nodded vigorously as Blade finished. "Aye Cap'n, it'll be done just like ye say, Cap'n!"

He turned to go, and Plink barely glimpsed the tick in his jaw before he caught sight of her and hustled past. She watched him for a second, then took the wine to Blade. He tore his eyes from the sea and frowned down at the silver vessel, then at her.

"You expect me to drink straight from that like some sort of vagrant?"

Plink looked at her own face pinched down and reflected back at her in the flagon's side. "Er… No, Cap'n… just…"

Blade rolled his eyes away from her. "Fetch my goblet from my office. And get a new sash while you're there."

Swallowing the urge to ask where she would find those things, Plink set down the flagon on a nearby crate and returned below. She made her way to the captain's quarters - a place she had never dared to enter during Atlas's stint in command.

The captain's office was stately, with plush furnishings and rich wooden paneling. Blade's possessions were strewn across the enormous desk, maps and parchment as well as a few books stacked together. To Plink's relief, the goblet was immediately evident. It was an ornate piece, heavy with gold and gems, and Plink held it in one paw as she began rifling through drawers in search of a sash.

Yet, the second drawer she opened contained something else, an object she had not expected to see for some time, still. It gleamed there in the drawer with the spare quills and ink pots and a vaguely familiar ruby necklace, and the sight of it made Plink freeze and forget the heavy goblet in her paw. Even when the golden cup hit the floor and rolled against her footpaw, she did not notice it.

She couldn't tear her eyes from Scully's dagger.

 _A secret mission, huh? Sounds mighty important for one leveret._

 _I can tell you for a fact that he killed Mister Craws and had his body incinerated so none of us would know until he was ready to rub it in our faces… He'll cut you down the second you lose your value to him._

 _'E don't care 'bout anybeast but 'imself. Yer just another tool t' 'im!_

Carefully, as if even the hilt might cut her, Plink lifted the dagger from the drawer. In her paw, it felt heavier even than the goblet had, and unpleasantly cold. She wanted to throw it back in the drawer and leave. She wanted to pretend that she had never seen it, and that she had no idea what it meant that it was here. She wanted to believe that villainy was just a meaningless word goodbeasts used against vermin to justify the things they did to them.

But Plink couldn't believe that anymore. She had seen villainy, and all of it happened under Blade's command. The tormenting of the slaves, the pointless bloodshed of Greyjaw's rebellion, Tooley's death, Vera's torture, Crue, Scully…

Plink slowly slid the drawer shut. She found a row of red and black sashes draped over a chair back and tied one of each around her waist, looping them twice to create a wide band. Then she stuck the dagger down the back where her jacket would hide it.

Soon, she would need to make a choice. She would need to face the forces that were converging all around her. Burnet, the _Phantom_ , Salamandastron. Blade. Plink would need to be brave if she was going to do what was right.

But for now, she had to be smart.

Plink picked up the goblet from the floor and shut the door quietly behind her as she left to attend the ferret in command.


	89. Last Shot at Redemption

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Last Shot at Redemption**

 _By: Robert_

* * *

After weeks of lifting stone after stone and nearly choking on the brimstone in the Dead Rock's mines, the sea breeze was a most welcome friend to Robert's senses. It was a few hours past midnight, and the cool air rustled through the hedgehog's spines and fur as he stood at the _Phantom's_ prow, watching the horizon with trained eyes. Somewhere out there with a crew that nearly doubled their number was the _Zephyr_ and the rest of Blade's fleet, looming in the darkness just ahead of his own ship. Robert sighed.

 _My own ship . . ._ It was true that Robert had always wanted to sail a ship of his own, but this was not at all what the aged hedgehog had in mind. A commercial ship, maybe for fishing or trading perhaps, one he could bring his family aboard on a lazy afternoon. Never in the hedgehog's life did he think he would become the head navigator and captain of one of the most feared pirate vessels in all the seas. _Life sure is full o' surprises, ain't it?_

He turned, making his way back to the main deck. While it was late, several of his fellow Waverunners skipped sleep and were at their old posts, hard at work at their familiar jobs, even though it was on a stranger ship. What used to be contented faces were replaced with the haggard yet determined looks one would expect from beasts who were only recently enslaved. Among them was Frederick. The hare's eyes finally had a gleam of purpose in them as he calmly dished out orders to the beasts around him. Everybeast had their roles now and knew it.

Just as he had his. He gave another look back to the crew around him. Seeing everybeasts' faces, the hedgehog knew now why Frederick chose him to lead everybeast out of the mines. For the first time in weeks, beasts who once looked dead had a gleam of life in their eyes, and though the odds were stacked against them, they were hopeful, inspired, and prepared. Robert looked down to the compass he held in his paw. The needle spun around one time until it settled north, just as it always did.

It wouldn't be long now. The hedgehog was confident that riding the current they were on would soon catch them up to Blade, and everybeast would need to be ready for the battle that was likely to come.

It was then he heard a call from the crow's nest.

"Waverunners, ho!"

Robert glanced up to the crow's nest, barely making out the beast inside pointing northward. Reaching into his pocket, Robert pulled out the spyglass that hadn't left his possession since boarding the _Phantom_. Whipping it open, he peered through to see the _Zephyr._ seemingly anchored. Looking even farther, the hedgehog quickly understood why. On the horizon was a single dot, lit by lanterns and displaying proudly the colors of blue and gold. He smiled.

"Heh, heh, heh, would ya look at that, mates!" Robert called.

"What is it, another bally ship, wot?" Frederick asked, quickly coming to his side.

"Aye, Fred." The hedgehog passed him the spyglass, watching as a smile stretched across the colonel's face. "Ya best thank your lucky stars, friend, 'cause it looks like we've got allies comin'."

The hedgehog turned and called out for Chak, who quickly dropped what he was doing. "Chak, mate, wake everybeast and tell 'em there's about t' be a meetin' on the main deck," Robert said when he arrived. "Blade's got himself stuck between a rock and a hard place, so now's our chance t' deal with 'im once an' for all. An' I think I might have a plan." The sea otter nodded, and rushed to the lower decks, shouting as he did. Robert waited, chewing his lip as his mind worked on what to say.

After a few minutes, the rest of the drowsy crewbeasts aboard the _Phantom_ made their way to the main deck, their eyes fixed expectantly on Robert.

"Alright, crew, we're right at the back o' Blade's ship, an' I know some o' ya have been preparin' for this, and some o' you might be nervous, but there's good news, mates. We've got some backup closin' in. That's right, we've got friends, mates. A whole fleet o' Waverunners are on the horizon, all sailin' out to help us stop Blade. It's now or never, boyos!" Robert announced, and the crew murmured in excitement, along with a few cheers. "An' the plan basically comes down to this: while Blade's got his back turned to us, we get a few o' our own an' board the Zephyr, an' take out the devil, once and for all. Salamandastron, the seas, all our homes an' families, they can all finally be safe." Robert thought briefly to Plink as well. He hadn't been able to find her before they sailed off, and it was likely she was with Blade now. Maybe if he was lucky, he could still save her.

"Aye, but how do we board without being blown to smithereens, wot?" asked Frederick. Robert smiled.

"I was thinkin' we give that blighter a taste o' his own medicine and let this ship live up to her name, heh heh heh," Robert chuckled. There were mutters from the crown as they mulled over the idea. "When the early mornin' fog rolls in we sneak through it an' get ourselves close an' we'll be able to board the Zephyr without anybeast knowin'. We can get on an' get off, no problem. Now, we gotta do this absolutely perfectly an' quickly, so we only need those who know they can. Any volunteers?"

Without even a moment of contemplation beasts were raising their paws and shouting. Robert smiled, then calmed them down. "Alright, alright, I understand. I cain't take all o' you, so I'll whittle you down in a few. An' I'll be goin' too, so Fred, I'm puttin' you in charge o' the Phantom while I'm gone-"

"There's no way in Hellgates I'm not going with you, wot," Frederick stated. "Blade has Atlas somewhere on that ship, I know it. I need to find him."

Robert was about to argue, but the look in Frederick's eyes told him otherwise. He nodded simply. "Aye, I understand. Then I'll be needin' you here, Chak."

"Rob, ya don't think ya might be gettin' a bit too hasty? There's double our number on that ship."

"Aye, ya might be right, friend, but chances like this don't come often. An' besides, it's smarter t' strike while the iron's hot. While they're busy figgerin' out how to deal with our friends there, we can take matters into our own paws and take the first move, cut the head off the snake, so t' speak. It'll be quick an' simple."

"And ye'll be able t' do it this time?"

"Hmm?"

"Ye'll be able t' kill Blade?" Chak said.

Robert paused, thinking over the question. "Aye. Ya said that I didn't have t' be the executioner an' I know now that you're right, I don'. But that beast is only a day's off from Hearth, mate, and I ain't gonna let him get an inch closer t' Violet or Maribel, or any other innocent beast there. And if I can't bring myself t' be the beast t' bring him down..." the hedgehog turned to the crowd of volunteers that were beginning to gather behind him, "then I'm sure one of them will."

"Right," Chak answered. "Just be careful, mate. We'll keep ya covered."

"Thanks, friend."

With a nod, they shook paws.

* * *

There was silence on the sea. The mist had done its job, letting the _Phantom_ easily get closer to the _Zephyr_ undetected. Robert was crouched with Frederick and around twenty other beasts, all huddled together in a lifeboat. It was a ghost on the water, making no sound as it glided towards the former Waverunner vessel. Not a beast dared speak as they grew closer and closer to their destination.

The minutes ticked by slower and slower until finally, the boat drifted close enough for Frederick to ease it next to the _Zephyr_. Beasts began passing around grappling hooks. Robert waited until everyone was ready, then motioned for them to begin boarding.

The beasts began spinning their hooks in the air, the sound cutting through the night as they let them go. One by one they snagged the side of the ship, and the beasts began their climb. Robert grasped a rope of his own and looked to the others.

 _An' now for the hard part. Climbin' this infernal rope._


	90. Where's the Kaboom?

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Where's the Kaboom?**

 _By:_ Vera

* * *

The _Phantom_ was silent, floating in a dark bubble on it's own. Wary of giving any surrounding pirates an idea of their location, they kept the lanterns covered and dim. Voices spoke barely above a whisper, as if fearful they'd carry across the dark waters.

Vera crossed the _Phantom_ to the stern where Chak stood, scarred arms resting on the railing. The otter stared in the direction Rob had gone. She mimicked his posture and stared out into the fog.

"He'll be fine," she told him.

"Aye," the otter grumbled.

"You could have gone with him. Watched his back."

Chak shook his head. "I be needed 'ere."

"Then don't make the rest of us nervous by waiting for him. He'll signal us when he's done. It'll be fine."

She pushed away from the rail and walked down the stairs to the main deck. The _Phantom's_ crew milled about, eyes constantly looking toward the dark sea. Vera shivered, suddenly remembering the last time she'd been aboard a ship in the fog. She rubbed her paws up and down her arms briskly and made her way to the _Phantom's_ galley.

Once there, Vera filled a kettle with fresh water. Placing it on the galley stove to heat, she pulled out a tray, a battered teapot, two cups, and found a box of tea. She placed the teapot and cups on the tray and added the leaves. Her hip bumped the table and she felt the two shells in her apron pocket dig into her. She still carried Fildering's picture and she planned on keeping it close. She had a promise she'd made to herself that she intended to keep.

Once the tea was made, she picked up the tray and headed in search of Rindclaw. She checked his stern cabin first, but it was really no surprise that the weasel wasn't there. She found him on deck by one of the cannons seated in the chair they'd constructed for him because of his injuries.

They had salvaged four cannons from Dead Rock before leaving. Two that Blade had left behind, one that had been incomplete but that Rindclaw had given directions for completion during the voyage. Hylan had found the fourth one in some storage cubby near where the black powder's ingredients had been stored. Rindclaw said it had been Blade's first successful test cannon. This was the one he was tinkering with in the foggy dark.

"What are you doing?" she asked him as she set the tray on a barrel. "You should be in bed."

"Can't sleep," the weasel muttered as he prodded a bundle of long sticks into the bore of the cannon.

"Rindclaw, you've checked this same cannon a dozen times. We tested a double load of powder in it. There's no problem with it. Why are you so worried?"

"I helped Blade design 'em. I built 'em. If they fail, it'll be my fault."

Vera began pouring the tea into the cups. "Accidents happen, Rindclaw," she said, trying to reassure both him and herself.

He grunted and went back work with the searcher.

She added a spoonful of honey to one cup, stirred it, and brought it over to Rindclaw. She used her free paw to help him pull the searcher from the bore and then she set it aside and held out the cup of tea.

"It's not jus' this one," he admitted as he took the tea from her. "That one," he nodded across the deck to the cannon that had been assembled during their voyage, "hasn't even been tested. We don't have th' powder t' do it. It could explode th' first time it's fired an' kill everybeast standin' around it."

Vera busied her paws with fixing her own cup of tea. "My crew will stand well back the first time we fire it."

"Yore crew," he snorted. "Vera, you've gone through th' motions with 'em dozens o' times, but not a one o' you has actually fired in th' heat o' battle."

"I trust my crew," she lied. "We'll be fine."

Rindclaw took a sip of the tea. "Y' don't see all the things that can go wrong, do you?"

She shrugged and turned away from him, looking out over the fog-shrouded sea. How could she admit that she'd had nightmares? If something happened and the _Phantom_ went down, it would be her fault. She had the recipe for black powder stuck in her head. She voiced the confidence that they'd be able to make the cannons work.

Now that they drifted here in the dark, in the middle of Blade's fleet, she saw the insanity of it all. One ship against over a dozen. Four cannons facing who knew how many now residing on the _Zephyr_. One half-trained crew who'd never truly fired a cannon facing Blade's army who had drilled and practiced in Dead Rock for seasons. The seven day sea voyage had given Vera and her helpers enough time to make two barrels of black powder. Blade had scores of barrels on the _Zephyr_.

It _was_ hopeless.

And yet...

"I'm just a cook, Rindclaw. I'm not a warrior. I can't fight. But I can't stand by and watch Blade hurt other beasts anymore. I've lost friends to Blade and I'll lose even more if he continues on this path. I..." She took a slow deep breath, then looked the weasel in the eye. "I know we're likely to fail, but I'm not going to run away this time."

"Vera!"

She jumped, sloshing tea across her paw as Reedox rushed up. "A ship's been spotted," he reported.

Vera left her cup behind and ran to the poop with the squirrel, then joined Hylan and Chak at the rail where they pointed at the hazy light bobbing in the fog.

Vera cast a glance towards Chak. "Have they seen us?"

"Nay," Chak said. "I don' think so."

"They will if they get any closer," Hylan said.

Vera's stomach clenched. "Then I best get my crew together."

"We ain't firin' on 'em," Chak muttered. "We need ta watch fer Robert's signal."

"I ain't..." She clicked her tongue. _Starting to talk the the lot of them..._ She tried again, "I'm not firing yet, but I want to be ready. A few moments may make all the difference."

"Ye wait fer my command afore firin'," the otter said.

"Aye, Captain," she said with a hint of sarcasm. Then she ran back across the deck and quickly passed the word for the cannon crews to assemble.

"Vera," Rindclaw said as a couple beasts helped move him away from the cannons. She glanced his way and her eyes met his hard gaze. "Don't miss," he growled. She raised a paw in acknowledgment.

Five beasts had been assigned to each cannon, and those crews soon stood ready, rammers and ladles held in trembling paws. Vera checked that everything was in order, from buckets of water ready for the sponges to the linstock to ignite the powder. Hylan hovered nearby, not part of the cannon crew but sticking close just in case.

They watched the light bob in the fog and little by little, it drew nearer. She saw the outline of the ship. Their ship still sailed in a puddle of darkness, barely lit.

The muffled tone of a bell rang out through the fog.

"They've seen us!"

 _Time to see if we actually got it right._ Out loud she said. "Ready the cannons on the starboard side!"

At each cannon, the beasts bearing the ladles filled the bore with the measured amount of black powder before aiding the rammers to pack it down. Others stood with paws over the vents to keep the powder from flying out. Double pawfuls of straw were shoved in and tamped down as well. As the rammers were withdrawn from the bore, the cannonballs were loaded. Once more, it was packed tightly, then the crews stepped back. Two beasts primed the fuse holes.

"Ready!" the mouse who added the primer said.

"Ready!" said the shrew at the other cannon.

"Stand by," Vera said, and looked to Chak. He stood on the poop deck, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the lights draw closer. "Chak, we're ready."

The otter lifted a staying paw and waited for several long moments as the pirate vessel drew closer. Around Vera, some of the crew began to shift nervously.

"Chak, we can't help Robert later if they board us."

Finally he gave in, lowering his paw with a sigh. "A'right. Give 'em a warnin' shot, Vera."

Vera picked up a linstock, a stick that held a length of rope treated with saltpeter in the notch at the end. She used one of the sulfur lanterns to light it and approached the right most cannon. She eyed the distance, trying to guess if they were close enough, based on what Rindclaw had told her about aiming the cannons. She gave a few orders to her crew to adjust the cannon's angle.

"Stand back," she said, and every beast but her moved away from the cannons. Standing well to the side, she reached out and touched the linstock to the bit of black powder that trailed from the fuse hole. The powder flared and the cannon jumped with a concussive boom that Vera felt deep in her chest. From the ship approaching them, she heard the sharp crack of iron striking wood and the cries of panic that arose.

"Hah ha! Got 'em!" she laughed.

"I said a warnin' shot!" Chak grumbled.

"You think you can aim any better?" she barked, aware that a grin spread across her face. "Besides, now we know for sure that they work!"

Chak raised an eyebrow. Behind Vera, her crew used the wormer and the sponge to clear any debris from the bore and extinguish any sparks still present.

"Aim and fire the second cannon," she said, nodding to the hare who stood ready with another linstock.

Another flash and boom, followed moments later by another crack of timbers.

"Reload!" She ordered, and began adjusting her cannon for a second shot.

"Save yer powder," Chak said. "They be changin' course."

Vera and the rest of the crew watched as the lights in the fog changed direction and slowly faded into the night. A small cheer went up from the crew.

"Lights off the port bow!" somebeast yelled from the front of the ship.

"Ready port cannons," Chak ordered.

Vera wasn't sure if it was the sound of the cannons that drew the pirates in, but as the wee morning hours wore on, they found themselves engaging more ships in the dark. Most of the pirates changed course when they realized their enemy was the one with cannons. Several times the cannons misfired and there was a scramble to clear the bore and reload. They missed a lot more than they hit, proving that Vera's initial shot had been beginner's luck. Though, a young mole who manned one of the port cannons had a good head for the trajectory of the cannonballs and proved quite deadly in his shots. Vera was certain at least one ship he hit had started putting on water.

A single, muffled shot echoed through the fog and every head turned towards the mass of light that marked Blade's ship.

"Was that from the _Zephyr_?" a mouse asked.

Vera moved to the rail and squinted out across the darkness. "Sounded like it. But we should be well out of their range..."

The hare who manned the rammer joined her. "Maybe they're firing on their own bally crew, wot."

"Maybe," she said, now worried that Blade would decided to bring the bigger, heavily armed ship into the battle. The smaller pirate ships had no cannons and stayed back when they realized what they faced, but if it came down to battle with the _Zephyr_ , they would surely lose.

They slowly sailed on, doing their best to keep the dim light of the _Zephyr_ in sight, yet themselves out of range.

Gradually, Vera noticed that the fog was lightening. The sun was rising.

"How's the powder doing?" she asked the otter who carried the ladle for her cannon.

He said, "First barrel's gone. Mayhaps three-quarters of the second left."

Vera clicked her tongue and looked over the fog-shrouded sea. No lights met her gaze, save for the _Zephyr's_ , so she safely stowed her linstock and went in search of Chak. During some of the fighting, he'd been rallying the rest of the crew, making sure they had weapons, instructing them on what to do in case they were boarded, and dividing crews up to defend various parts of the ship.

"Over half our powder's gone," she told him when she found him standing at the stern railing, gazing out at the lights of the _Zephyr_. "No sign of Robert?"

"Nay," he said. "'E shoulda signaled us by now."

She crossed her arms over her chest and scanned the fog. "I'm afraid we won't be able to stay here much longer. Our powder's going to run out soon and once this fog lifts, we'll be at the mercy of Blade's fleet."

Chak glared at her. "I ain't leavin' 'im behind."

"We may not have a choice. Staying will mean death for everybeast on board... Or back to slavery." She turned her back on the otter and started back towards her cannons. "I don't know about you, but I know there are some aboard who'd rather die than be slaves again."

"Ship off the starboard stern!" somebeast suddenly yelled. "Coming in fast!"

Vera looked, spotting the dark shape in the fading fog. No lights shown from the deck, which explained why they hadn't spotted it sooner. She grabbed her linstock and checked her aim on the cannon, then gave orders for adjustments. The vessel was almost on them.

She touched the linstock to the primer. There was a flash and the cannon bucked halfheartedly as it misfired. Vera swore and her crew jumped in to clear the bore and ready it for another firing.

She heard the boom of the second cannon, but the aim was too high and the cannonball went sailing above the deck of the enemy ship.

Grappling hooks suddenly came sailing across the space between the two ships, one catching the otter with the ladle of gunpowder. He cried out in pain as it jerked him against the rail.

"Hooks on the starboard rail!" she cried, then got shoved to one side as a hare with a cutlass ran forward and hacked at the rope, freeing the otter.

"Vera, get out of there!" Hylan yelled.

She waited. Her crew kept working to reload the cannon. They were ramming down the straw now. If she could get another shot at this close a quarter, she was sure she could sink the ship. She just needed a little more time.

Then Vera saw the boarding planks being lifted across. There was no more time.

"Starboard cannon crews, fall back!" she cried, as she stepped away from the cannon. "Fall back!"

As they retreated, leaving cannons only partly loaded, the enemy began pouring over the rails.


	91. Nowhere Left to Run

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Nowhere Left To Run**

 **** _By: Robert_

* * *

The fog enveloped the ship as the beasts began their climb aboard. Robert, with much struggle, managed to claw his way up the rope with the help of a few others. It only took a couple of minutes for the rest of their covert group to make it on the deck of the _Zephyr._ A quick scan of the ship revealed a surprisingly scarce deck of pirates, with only a couple standing about, staring off into the fog.

Robert, making double sure of how many pirates there were, motioned for a few Waverunners to break out of the group and take the vermin out. Being careful to keep to the shadows, the beasts skulked out onto the deck, swiftly and silently snapping the necks of the pirates. Robert and the rest of the soldiers quickly joined up with the other beasts, helping to throw the bodies overboard. Robert made one more glance across the deck for any more enemies, but was still puzzled to see none around. While stumped, Frederick made his way over to interrupt.

"Robert, now that we're here, I have to find Atlas," the hare whispered.

"Aye, I understand Fred, jus' we need you right now," Robert answered. "We got time to find him later, but firs' we need to figure out where in the blazes this ship's crew's hidin'."

"I know, Rob, but I have to find him now. I'm sorry, wot," Frederick replied hastily, shuffling off before Robert could hiss after the hare to stop. One of the Waverunners ran off as well, charging down a stoat that had appeared from below decks. Robert began to help him, but a new group of pirates rushed his group from the other stairwell, breaking their ranks. A fox found his way in front of the hedgehog, baring his teeth as he raised his cutlass. Robert answered with a quick lunge to the fox's throat, then a swift slash to his chest, forcing the beast to collapse in agony. As the hedgehog started for a new target, a sudden swipe from a weasel knocked the sailor off balance. Luckily, a hare saved Robert from any follow up by promptly killing off the weasel before Robert hit the ground.

Robert took a moment to catch his breath, watching his friends deal with the new group of pirates. They began to haul the bodies overboard like the others, but Robert waved his arm dismissively.

"No, ain't no time, more'll be comin' up soon I'd bet," he huffed. "We got to find a way below deck an' fast." Moments after he said this, a new pawful of pirates made their way on deck. Scrambling to his feet, Robert grunted. "Jus' a few o' you take care o' them, the rest with me!"

Robert rushed to the opposite stairwell, his Waverunners following suit close behind. Putting a claw to his lips, Robert led the way, creeping down the rickety wooden steps as quietly as possible. Once reaching the bottom flight, the hedgehog peeked around the corner. Nobeast was in sight. Robert motioned to his party that the coast was clear, when suddenly a tiny figure appeared around the corner. A mole tentatively stepped forward with his saber raised, but Robert quickly lowered the beast's weapon. He recognized the beast.

"Oi, stand down, mates!" Robert said, moving closer to the familiar ratmaid. Plink looked up to him, her eyes much darker than they were the last Robert saw her. "Glad to see that you're still alright, lass. You know, we've got to stop meetin' like this, heh heh heh," Robert whispered to the young rat and chuckled.

Plink flashed a smile, but it quickly faded as she glanced behind her. "Mister Robert, it ain't safe fer you here! Yer gonna get yerself killed!"

"That's a risk me an' all o' me mates are willin' to take. We've got to end this now, Plink, while Blade doesn't know we're comin'," Robert replied.

"There's too many of 'em! They'll just kill all of ya before you even _get_ to Blade, 'specially walkin' around out in the open like this..." Plink tugged her coat closer to better conceal the bulging sack she was carrying under her coat. Robert thought he caught a whiff of brimstone, though decided to pay it no mind. Abruptly, the rat's expression brightened. "I got an idea! Come on!"

With that, the former stowaway bounded down the hall, beckoning Robert to follow. He started to, but another hedgehog grabbed his arm.

"She's with them, Robert. You sure we can trust her?" He asked, his voice slightly shrill with fear. Robert nodded.

"Aye, she may be with them, but she's jus' young and confused, mate. She might act tough and say she's a pirate, but underneath all that, she's got a heart o' gold, for sure," he replied. Motioning to the others, Robert rushed after Plink. She turned a corner, leading the beasts towards the familiar kitchens of the _Zephyr_. She stopped at the door, and whispered back to the group.

"The cook's away right now, you can all hide in here!"

She pried open the door, allowing the other beasts to sneak inside. Robert was last in line, and he held open the door, expecting Plink to join them. The ratmaid shook her head.

"I've got somethin' to do," she said. Her paws clenched around the sack she carried. But despite her words, Plink chewed her lip rather than turn away. "Yer a good beast, Mister Robert. Don't get killed... please."

"Aye then, lass. An' don' you worry 'bout me. You be the one who's careful." Plink nodded, then ran off into the halls. Robert frowned, shutting the door once she was out of sight.

The other beasts huddled in the middle of the room. Robert paused in the doorway before turning towards the others. One hare broke the silence.

"What about the others out there, wot?" he asked, concern weighing down his words.

"They'll be able to keep the few pirates above decks from warnin' the rest o' our presence," Robert answered. "An' we'll stay down here until our chance comes and we can join that Waverunner fleet. Then we can be sure to stop Blade."

The Waverunners stayed quiet inside of their hiding spot for what felt like an eternity until suddenly, a crack of what sounded like thunder split the air. Pots and pans rattled against one another inside of the kitchen as the entirety of the Zephyr shook. As the noise settled, somebeast spoke up quietly.

"What was that?"

Realization quickly came to Robert, and he smiled. "Vera. Heh heh heh, looks like those cannons o' ours work after all." He paused as exclamations and shouts from all over the ship began to erupt at the sudden commotion. "Alright, everybeast, no time t' be throwin' a feast. Stay quiet now."

The sailors waited with bated breath, listening to the pounding footpaws of hundreds of pirates swarming out from below decks to face the threat on their ship. After the stamping died down, it took only a few seconds for Robert to hear a tiny, muffled voice from behind the door.

"The coast is clear," he heard Plink say. "If you're going to get at Blade, now's your only chance!"

Robert's breath quickened, and he turned to his mates. "It's time, me buckos! The pirates'll be occupied with the holes we be puttin' in their ship. Now's our chance to get what we came for! Now we can get Blade!"

A cheer came arose from the huddled beasts, and Robert swung open the door, allowing the eager beasts to burst into the hallways. He followed behind, drawing his sword.

 _I'm ready for you this time, Blade._

* * *

Robert huffed and puffed as he ran around the _Zephyr's_ cabins and hallways, searching for Atlas's old study. If Blade were to hole up anywhere, Robert was certain he'd have the arrogance to claim the badgerlord's office as his own. Luckily Robert only ran into a scarce few pirates, making quick work of them as most were already above decks seeing what the commotion had been. It was just Blade now, and the hedgehog knew it.

Robert was nearing the badgerlord's office. He caught himself from stumbling numerous times as the ship was rocked from cannon fire. As he turned the final corner, he saw somebeast race right before his eyes into the hall next to the hedgehog. Robert barely had to look to know it was the pirate king, and gave chase.

The ferret was reenacting their race in the tunnels back on the island, Robert felt. Always just ahead of the hedgehog and out of reach.

"Stop runnin', you bleedin' coward, we're on a ship!" Robert shouted. "Ain't no way you can get away from me!"

Robert saw the ferret glance behind his shoulder, a wicked grin across his face. An evil glint flashed in his eyes before he turned down yet another hallway. Blade was leading him down into the hulls of the ship. Robert was prepared to sprint after he turned the corner, when suddenly he found the ferret simply standing at the end of the hall, paws behind his back. Robert stopped, then raised his sword as a challenge.

"Alright, Blade!" Robert bellowed. "You're cornered! Now fight me like a real beast would!"

"Must we dance the same routine, Mister Rosequill?" Blade jeered. "I'm not going t' fight you."

"Aye, that may be," Robert said. "But that don' matter this time."

"Oh yes. I'd love t' see that glint in your eye again as you raise your sword, so prepared to strike, and then realize that you're too weak t' swing it. If there's one thing that you should know, Mister Rosequill, it's that when you hold a sword, you should be prepared t' kill."

"No, Blade. You're right. I cain't kill you."

The pirate king's smile faltered just a bit. "You can't, eh? Then what in the blazes are you wasting my time for?"

"I'm here to make sure you don' get away," Robert began. "You see, I've been thinkin' long an' hard on what you said to me. About not bein' able to stomach bein' executioner. An' you're right, Blade. I cain't."

Blade's grin widened. "And you felt the need to tell me? Well, that's nice. I know I'm right, Mister Rosequill, I didn't need to hear it from you. Now, if you'll excuse me. . ."

"I ain't finished yet, you blighter!" Robert shouted, raising his sword. "I only said I ain't an executioner. But that don' mean I don' know any. An' they'll be here soon. A whole fleet o' them. An' you ain't got nowhere to run. You're not gettin' out o' here alive, Blade, an' you know it. An' I'm jus' here to make sure o' that. You're my prisoner now, Blade. Right where you stand."

The pirate king's brow furrowed, and his grin slipped into a snarl. "Are you certain about that? I'll bet I can get past those bloody Waverunners without even a thought. I've got weapons they don' have. I've got smarts they don' have. Gates, I've got the badgerlord they don' have, locked away from them. I'll get out of this, just you wait, Goodbeast."

"No, you won't," Robert simply said. "I've learned somethin' in my time on that blasted island. This world ain't black an' white. That much is true, an' I've accepted it. It can get gray an' twisted an' disgustin'. But by bein' a goodbeast for others to look up to, these young'uns can make the world all the brighter. Everybeast can change, nobeast is jus' one thing. Nobeast but you. The only thing you are is pure evil, Blade, and goodbeasts will triumph over villains like you. Jus' as they always will."

Robert stepped closer to the pirate, sword still pointed threateningly directly at the beast. Blade backed away, slowly, towards the doorway at the end of the hall.

"Don', Blade, that's jus' a big closet. Ain't nothin' in it but foodstuffs. I'd know, I sailed on this pretty ship for longer'n you."

"You certainly did, Mister Rosequill," Blade began as he scrabbled for the doorknob. Once he grabbed hold, his smile returned. "But I've done a bit of renovating." He wrenched open the door and disappeared inside. Robert, cursing, followed him, sword still at the ready.

It was dark inside. Shadows lined the walls, but Robert could tell the space was definitely being used for something other than supplies. Fumbling about in the dark, the hedgehog began shouting at the ferret.

"Come on, you coward! I already told you, ain't no way out o' this! You might as well give yourself up to me now, an' _maybe_ the Waverunners'll spare you!"

Blade cackled in the dark. "Why would I need to give myself up to somebeast, when I have this?"

Robert heard the hiss of a match lighting in the dark, and whirled around to the sound. Blade was behind the hedgehog, holding the little flame.

"You think you know this world, Goodbeast. But you're wrong. You'll never triumph over us. Not until you learn one simple fact about us vermin," the pirate king sneered. "We are _never_ unarmed."

Dropping the match, it flashed a light. Time seemed to slow down as a deafening sound shattered Robert's eardrums, just enough for the hedgehog to see the cannon, before all he could see was black.


	92. Redemption

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Redemption**

 _By: Chak_

* * *

Chak gripped his axe, steeling himself once again for battle. But Instead of the expected flood of pirate vermin from Blade's pirate fleet, the sea otter was startled to sight the blue and gold uniforms of Waverunners. Hares, otters, squirrels, mice and hedgehogs leapt the rails of the Phantom, landing with their spine-tingling "Eulalia!" battle cry. Confusion reigned as both crews came face to face with other woodlanders until the Waverunners in the __Phantom's__ crew stepped forward, wearing the tattered remnants of their old uniforms and raising their paws in salute. The invaders stuttered to a halt, but kept their weapons drawn until a pudgy gray hare with Colonel's marks stepped forward.

"I say, who's in charge o' this bally sorry-looking lot, eh wot? Most o' you are out of uniform – flippin' irregular, by jingo! And you with uniforms – dis-graceful! That's no way to treat the brave colors, my laddos!" The hare sniffed, large incisors puckering his fine-furred lip.

Holstering his axe, Chak stepped boldly forward. "We ain't Waverunners, mate – "

"That's Colonel Rutheshire to you!" the hare cut him off. "And Waverunner or not, 'tis a sign of disrespect not to salute an allied officer! Unless of course, you're not allies…" The Colonel's paw partially drew his saber and Chak froze.

"Hold fast, Colonel!" a voice cut in. "This otter does not speak for us all!" A familiar hare stepped forward, ahead of Chak. "Colonel Killian Wrightbones, at your service, wot!" He saluted the older beast sharply.

"About jolly well time." The gray hare turned to face the Waverunner. "You're the one in charge then, sah?"

Chak's nostrils flared when Killian glanced his way, but the hare paid him little mind now that a ship full of his compatriots outnumbered the seasoned mariner and whatever supporters he might have.

"By right of rank and duty, sah, I believe I am the rightful captain of this ship in the absence of Colonel Swiftpaw."

"Ah! Old Frederick is still kicking, is he? Jolly glad to hear it!" The Colonel immediately fell into a friendlier humor and the Waverunners around him began to lower their weapons.

Chak and Reedox exchanged frowning looks. Both remembered Killian Wrightbones as the sulky, winging slave who was always trying to convince others to trade their gruel away.

The sea otter cleared his throat loudly and crossed his arms. The older hare with the paunch turned to face him again.

"I say, is there a problem, old bean, or have you swallowed a bally moth?"

"Arrr, that hare be full o' mischief, Colonel. I be in charge o' this 'ere vessel. Ask any o' the crew." Chak tilted his head at the mix of beasts gathered across the deck. Several affirmed his words with "ayes" and nods.

"And who, pray tell, are you?"

"Chak Ku'rill, sir. These beasts were enslaved by Cap'n Blade, freed only a week ago. We fought our way outta 'is underground fortress an' seized the __Phantom__ fer ourselves ta pursue the pirate king an' try an' stop 'im afore 'e reaches the mainland. Colonel Swiftpaw an' Master Rosequill boarded the __Zephyr__ jus' o'er an hour ago in an attempt ta… apprehend 'im."

As if in answer, more cannon blasts echoed across the water. Chak gazed through the clearing mist at the shape of Blade's ship and hoped Robert was still alive.

Colonel Rutheshire's long ears angled together and he looked back at Killian with disapproval. "Is this true, Colonel Wrightbones?"

The younger hare puffed with self-importance. "It's true that the otter has bludgeoned his way into a position of power, aye, but as a former pirate and slave driver, the only real rank about __him__ is his scent, wot! I, on the other paw, was promoted by Lord Atlas himself, Colonel, sah. I believe that makes me the more qualified beast now that we find ourselves amidst __civilized__ company again."

Chak's fists tightened and he bared his yellowed fangs at Killian Wrightbones.

The older hare wrinkled his nose. "Now see here, this is no time for debate. Most unprofessional, wot wot! We are sitting in the midst of a ruddy fleet of cutthroats, by jove!" Rutheshire's whiskers twitched with irritation. He then turned to address the crew of the __Phantom__. "It would seem you lot have been through the bally mill. Now I've learned a thing or two about ship politics in my day and if one thing's certain it's that a crew will not be led by a beast they don't jolly well wish to follow." Rutheshire propped both paws against his hips, then gestured at Kililan. "A colonel is an appointed leader with experience under his belt who aspires to bring glory and honor to the Badgerlord's name. I am inclined to recommend such a fellow to a position of leadership, but as this ship does not officially belong to Lord Atlas's fleet, that decision is not mine to make."

A river otter wearing a familiar cudgel at his side stepped forward and nodded at the two Colonels, then he turned and held up his paws to gain the crew's attention. "This pirate's had his chance to be in charge already, friends, and I don't know about you, but I would much rather be led by a fellow freebeast who understands where we're comin' from. What does this Chak Ku'rill really know about suffering? He's gone along with our efforts, sure, but it's all been to his own advantage. What does a slave master know of the value of freedom? Let one of our own take the helm, I say! I'm through being commanded by pirates and slavers!"

Several enthusiastic "Hurrahs" echoed back from the crew and Chak felt a lurch in his gut.

"Very well!" Rutheshire declared, quashing further debate. The Colonel put his back to Chak and shook Kililan's paw heartily. "Congratulations, Colonel Wrightbones. We shall endeavor to assist you as best we can. Now, kindly enlighten me on these amazing instruments you've been utilizing… I hear tell they can destroy a ship from afar…"

Chak felt like a rug had been yanked out from under his footpaws. Had nothing he'd done mattered in the end?

"I know how they feel," Reedox admitted from his place beside Chak, "but I don't think they realize the idiot they've put into power."

Chak tried to push past the distraction of being deposed and listen to what this "new captain" was planning.

"We can try," Killian said, "but they're quite heavy. Cast iron, donchaknow. Would be a ruddy shame to lose one in transition with only four…" Killian held a claw to his chin, feigning reflection.

"Fool," Reedox muttered under his breath, echoing Chak's own thought.

"Right-o. Best to leave them be then," Ruthershire conceded. "Am I right to assume Blade has equal weaponry at his disposal? We arrested a lone ferret earlier who claimed Blade was alive, armed with these bally implements, and on his way to assault the grand mountain. Weren't certain we could take the word of a ruddy pirate, but General Sapwood mustered the fleet just in case."

"Sah, yes sah, we're the only ship besides Blade's that has this sort of fire-power, by jingo, and hence the only ship capable of taking a real stand against the villain."

"Blade be 'avin' far more 'n four cannons, ye can be sure!" Chak cut in brashly. "Thar be a reason the plan weren't ta face 'im outright. We'd be blown outta the water afore we could e'en get a shot off. Plus, Robert still be aboard! Don' give up on 'im yet."

Killian turned a cold glare on the otter. "We already know you're exceptionally skilled at saving your own hide, Mister Ku'rill. But there is far more at stake here than you might care to recognize. With the Waverunner Navy engaging Blade's own fleet, we are free to approach the __Zephyr__ boldly. We'll give Blade a taste of his own medicine."

"Folly!" Chak spat.

Killian's eyes narrowed. "No, it's called __courage__. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Colonel Rutheshire clapped Killian on the shoulder with a chuckle the same moment Chak wanted to punch him in the face. "Well said, sah! It takes brave action to overcome poor odds, but when you're the only one left to it, you'd best be up to the bally task!"

Killian gave a short nod, then gestured at two of the cannons. "We'll move the starboard cannons to port side since the wind is most favorable from the west. Then we can face the __Zephyr__ with all of our firepower."

"Jolly good, jolly good." Rutheshire approved. "I'll send over any extra deckhands you may need, wot! We'll give 'em a fight that will make the books, by jingo!"

As Colonel Rutheshire signaled his crew to return to their ship, Killian gave orders to loose the starboard cannons. Vera, having emerged from the safety of the deck below, stormed over to Chak.

"Just what is going on here? Did you order this?" Her hackles rose beneath the straps of her black-smudged apron.

Chak shook his head, but found himself unwilling to admit his position had been usurped so easily.

"While you and Rindclaw were below, the rest of the crew voted Killian Wrightbones to captaincy," Reedox explained dryly.

A cry rang out as the first cannon slid wildly across the deck, its weight pulling it this way and that with the wave-tossed ship.

"This is madness!" Vera put her paws to her face.

"Aye," Chak observed.

At last enough beasts pitched in that they were able to maneuver the weapon to portside and tie it down safely.

"Why is he doing this?" Vera asked with a note of dread.

"'E's ordered us ta attack the __Zephyr__." Chak gritted his teeth.

Vera paled and she licked her lips nervously. "Chak, you can't let this happen. You have to stop him! We'll all __die__!"

"Aye, but it'll be in a blaze o' glory. That's all that matters ta 'im." The surly otter crossed his arms again.

"Oh well, I guess we should just go along with it then!"

Chak raised a brow at her pursed lips and pinned ears. "The crew don' want me ta lead, Vera. What d'ye expect me ta do? Pull out me whip again an' try an' force everyone ta do as I say?"

"I don't know! Why did they follow you before?"

Chak shook his head, baring his teeth. "I thought they respected me. I thought they appreciated what I did ta 'elp free 'em. But now…" he trailed off.

Vera looked to Reedox. "Why do __you__ trust him?"

The squirrel looked taken aback. "I, uh… " He met Chak's troubled gaze, then looked away again. "I guess I believe he doesn't want me to die. Or any of us, for that matter."

"Well if that's all it takes then I should have a legion of beasts flocking around me by now." The fox's eyes snapped toward a couple of Waverunners rolling her last remaining barrel of carefully mixed black powder across the deck. "Just where do you think you're going with that?" she railed, heading over to defend what remained of her precious stock.

"Ah! Miss Silvertooth! I've been looking for you, wot!" Colonel Wrightbones intercepted her, backed by a handful of Rutheshire's soldiers. "I'd like you to assemble your cannon crews and ready the bally weapons to fire. We're going in for the ruddy kill as soon as the sails are turned."

"No!" the vixen snapped.

Killian's ears shot straight up and his fur puffed. "Miss Silvertooth, we have no time for your cheek! If you want us to have a fair chance at sinking them before they jolly well sink us, you had better have those cannons primed and ready!"

"I am not going to be a part of this lunacy, and neither are my crews!"

"Insubordination! Should have expected as much from a fox…" Colonel Wrightbone's scowled, then lifted an accusing claw. "You might think you're irreplaceable, vixen, but let me assure you, we will find another beast to direct your crews. Take her below and put her in the brig, chaps. Can't have her interfering at a time like this, wot!"

"You idiot! You're going to kill us all!" Vera struggled against the hares that held her, attracting the attention of a certain pine marten across the deck. He'd been helping Rindclaw out of the hold, but left the weasel sprawled on the deck when he spotted Vera's trouble.

"Hylan – Hylan!" Chak hissed, trying to grab him mid-charge, but his paws barely grazed the marten. "Blast!" he cursed. If all the sane beasts landed themselves in the brig, there would be nobeast left to stand with him against Killian.

Hylan drew his blade. "Unhand her at once, you blaggards!" A nearby Waverunner acted fast, grabbing the pine marten from behind and wresting the cutlass from his paw. The others drew their swords against him and he raised his paws in surrender.

"I'm starting to see a pattern here," Killian observed. "Perhaps we should detain all the vermin aboard until we've figured out where their loyalties truly lie." He gestured and the Waverunners drug the fox and marten away. Another picked up Rindclaw as they passed.

Chak smoldered. Rindclaw couldn't even walk, and no one knew more about the cannons than the blacksmith.

As the ship's altered sails caught the light wind, it turned slowly toward the __Zephyr__. Killian's borrowed posse wasted no time picking through the __Phantom's__ crew, pulling the various rats, stoats, and weasels out from among their peers and taking them below. Several of the freebeasts objected loudly.

"Pierre ain't done nothing wrong! What're you taking 'im for?"

"Grash is one of us, mate! He wasn't ever even a pirate!"

"How does cutting down our numbers help us?"

"Why're ya lockin' Verdy away? Nobeast wants to get back at Blade more 'n him! He's got the brands to prove it!"

Part of Chak was glad to hear the dissenting voices, but as they drew nearer to the __Zephyr's__ cannons, a cold shiver ran down his spine. Muttering and grumbling would not turn the ship around.

The __Zephyr__ was engaging Waverunner vessels now, and Chak could spot at least one that had been sunk, with only its prow and the tips of its masts still visible above water. Killian spotted the wreckage as well and drummed his fingers against the railing where he stood. The cannon crews stood around their respective weapons behind him, casting worried glances at one another. The Colonel had promoted a mouse to take Vera's place, and he looked less than confident about the new position.

"How far do these blinkin' things shoot?" the hare called back over his shoulder.

"Ahhh… " The mouse looked to the others, grimacing. "Roughly…the length of the __Phantom__?"

"I say, what if we implement the bally concept of the longbow? Increase the power, up the angle? If we could aim a shot from far enough back, we might land a blow without consequence, by jove!"

"Increase the power? You mean…more black powder?" The mouse looked unsure.

"That's the ticket, wot!" The hare gave a wink.

"We don't really know what that would do though. Vera was very specific about – "

"Nevermind her! You're in charge now, Mister Barclay. And if you jolly well prove your worth I might just recommend you for the star of courage!"

The mouse blinked, then nodded humbly. He turned to a squirrel with a ladle and shrugged. "Add another measure, I guess." Then in a lower voice he added, "I want everyone to keep their distance with this one."

Chak growled. "This seems a bad idea atop o' a slew o' bad ideas." He held a staying paw toward Reedox. "I'm gonna go check wi' Vera on this." The sea otter trotted over to the stairs that led down to the lower deck. Surly if it was that easy to shoot a cannon farther, Blade would already be doing it. The wooden planks of the lower deck creaked under his heavy footfalls as he made his way to the brig. A pair of Waverunners guarded the vermin crammed into the locker.

"Wot's your business?" one of the guards spoke up.

"Need information on the cannons," he replied. "The Colonel's decided to try something new."

Vera's face appeared at the bars and she gripped the iron with both paws. "What's the imbecile planning to do now?"

"'E wants ta try usin' double the powder ta shoot double the distance. What'll that – "

"NO!" Rindclaw's voice broke through from behind the mass of bodies. A ferret and a rat helped lift the weasel closer. "Stop 'em. Stop 'em now! Th' whole cannon'll explode! Everyone around it will die an' it might even sink th' ship!"

Chak turned and ran. Once up the stairs, he saw the cannon crew standing back and Killian with a paw raised. The ship was coming about, parallel to the __Zephyr__ which was still a fair distance off.

"Fire!" Killian directed, pointing at the mouse with the linstock.

"Belay that order!" Chak shouted, racing across the deck. The mouse froze, glancing back at him.

"Fire, I say!" Killian gestured wildly toward the __Zephyr__ , then glared furiously at Chak when the mouse still hesitated. " _ _He__ is no longer in charge! I am! Guards! Seize Mister Ku'rill at once!"

Chak halted, pointing a claw at the mouse. "Don' ye fire that cannon, Barclay. Rindclaw says it'll kill all who be near!" Chak snarled as five Waverunner hares approached him, weapons drawn.

"You're just saying that to undermine my authority!" Killian shouted with a hint of a whine.

"Aye? Be that so? Then light the damn thing yerself, ye bloody idgit! But don' put everyone else in 'arm's way fer yer own foolish ego!"

The rest of the crew began to gather, watching the exchange.

"Don't you flippin' pretend like you care about the rest of us!" Killian nodded self-confidently at the idling freebeasts. "We know you only helped us because you saw how things were going down. You made your choice and had to stick with it, but we __don't__ have to stick with you!" A few murmers of agreement arose from the surrounding mariners and the Colonel smiled smugly.

"You're sure making a lot of assumptions about a beast you know next to nothing about," Reedox retorted from his place up in the rigging. "He wasn't always a pirate, you know. He was a slave too. Most of his life." The squirrel spoke more to the crew than the Colonel.

"Ah, the lackey sidekick squirrel!" Killian sneered. "You of all beasts should jolly well know that the slave driver cares more about his own tail."

Reedox bristled all over. "He helped us all when it really counted. And he didn't have to stand at the front of the fight when Dremlak's crew tried to retake the ship!"

"So he likes the blood of battle. That's no surprise." The Colonel sniffed haughtily. "You saw what he did to that fox. He's a blood-thirsty brute with an appetite for violence. That's hardly a favorable endorsement, my lad!"

"He saved my life. Twice."

Silence. Chak met Reedox's gaze, a lump forming in his throat. He nodded his gratitude and the squirrel nodded grimly back.

"The crew's made it's bally decision!" Colonel Wrightbones asserted at last. "So it doesn't blinkin' matter." He turned back to the mouse with the linstock. "Now. __Light the soddin' cannon!__ "

The mouse stayed where he was. "Rindclaw knows what he's talking about." He shrugged meekly. "He helped design the cannons. He helped us learn how to fire them. If it's true that he says this is too dangerous… I believe him."

Colonel Wrightbones looked ready to explode himself. He marched over to Barclay and snatched the linstock angrily from his paw. "You're a bloomin' disgrace to the colors, wot! I'll throw you in the brig with the others for mutiny!" The mouse stared wide-eyed at the burning tip pointed at his face. Killian frowned at the distraction and threw it forcefully aside. "When I give you a direct order you're to bally well follow it!" He pushed his finger into Barclay's chest repeatedly. "You might have flippin' lost us our only chance at – " The hare broke off mid-sentence, spotting a traveling trail of sputtering flames over the mouse's shoulder. It was fast-approaching the barrel of black powder.

Killian leapt away in a panic, making a mad dash for cover. Barclay stood confused, then slowly turned to see what had frightened the Colonel. Chak plowed into him, throwing the mouse flat to the deck with his entire body just as the flames touched the keg.

 ** _ ** _KA-BOOOOOOM!_**_**

Splinters of wood and flame shot out in every direction. Chak felt the blast hit him hard where he crouched, sheltering the mouse's smaller body. Small bits of wood rained down around him and his ears throbbed with a loud ringing. When he finally dared to raise his head again, a black blast mark scarred the deck where the powder barrel used to be, a burning hole at its center.

"Fetch a bucket o' water!" Chak shouted, his voice a muffled utterance in his own ears. The otter turned back to check on the mouse. The smaller beast wore a startled expression and blood smeared his shirt. Chak patted him, trying to find the injury, but ended up only adding more blood. He paused, spotting several jagged splinters sticking out of his right arm. His gazed lingered on one extra large shard imbedded deeply in the meat of his forearm, blood streaming across his fur. With a grim expression, he turned back to Barclay.

"Air ye a'right?" Chak felt like he was shouting, but the mouse pointed at his ears, shaking his head and grimacing. Chak's own ears buzzed loudly, but he had instinctively closed them when he dove for the mouse, as he would when diving into the sea. The otter stood up slowly, small pains pricking all over his body.

Suddenly someone tugged at his shirt, yanking hard. It was Reedox, saying something urgent, yet indistinct. The squirrel started beating at the otter's lower back when Chak felt a sharp burning sensation. He roared and spun, sighting smoke out of the corner of his eye. He was on fire. Quickly he tore the shirt free, threw it to the deck, and stomped out the flames. Elsewhere others were dousing more small fires and tending to minor injuries.

Chak worked some of the splinters free of his bloody arm with his teeth, then glanced over at Killian who lay sprawled on his back a fair distance away. The guards who had formerly surrounded the otter now gathered around the Colonel, helping him to his feet. Chak looked warily across the water at the __Zephyr__. It was angling toward them now, narrowing the gap. Their guns would soon be in range, and now the __Phantom__ had no powder to fire back.

"We gotta move," Chak remarked to no one in particular. He felt his left ear clear a bit, though the right was still muted.

"Gaw… lookit 'is back," a voice carried from the crew.

"The squirrel said he was a slave before."

"I wonder how long…"

Chak met the stares, conscious of the exposure, but strangely not ashamed. Not among these beasts who bore countless scars of their own.

"Nineteen years," he growled, stalking toward Killian. The beasts who heard appeared stunned. Whispers carried the information across the ship and soon more beasts came over to gape at the sea otter's marred back.

"Colonel," Chak addressed the trembling hare. "The __Zephyr__ be bearin' down on us." He gestured toward the galleon. "I don' care if ye er I be in charge at this point. If this ship be under water won' nobeast care who the cap'n be."

Colonel Wrightbones glared hatefully at the otter. "I'll take your __advice__ under consideration." He then marched over to the cannon crews who were still nursing their wounds. "We have at least two shots! Let's make them count! Ready the cannons!"

Chak gritted his teeth, "Thar ain't time fer that! Order the sails—"

Suddenly a plume of water showered them all as a cannonball landed mere feet from the Phantom's hull.

"Vulpuz' shadow!" Chak roared. "Somebeast with sense get us the hell outta range!"

"Move the ship out of range!" Reedox relayed Chak's order sharply. "Captain's orders!"

" ** _ ** _I_**_** am the captain!" Colonel Wrightbones shrieked.

"Shut yer gob, Killian!" The shrew bos'n shouted back. "Far as I'm concerned, Chak's our captain now! Right, lads?" He saluted the sea otter sharply, and surprisingly the rest of the crew followed suit. "You heard 'im! All paws, clew up the mainsail and ready about!"

The ship came alive as beasts pulled and tugged at the rigging, maneuvering the black-painted vessel to tack. Another blast and a whistling sound echoed through the air as a cannonball sailed over their heads. Chak cursed. The crew might be listening to him now, but he wondered if it had all come too late.

"You think you've won?" Killian Wrightbones marched up to Chak, sword drawn. "Colonel Rutheshire left me in charge, by jove! You have no right to commandeer my position!"

Chak massaged his fist, considering giving the hare the answer he really deserved. "Put yer weapon away, Killian. We all be on the same side 'ere."

"I will not be subjugated under a slaver's footpaw again!" The blade trembled in the hare's paw and Chak met his eyes, recognizing something pitiful and desperate.

"Colonel," Chak pushed the blade down slowly with his paw, "Ye __air__ a free beast. An' I unnerstand that ye feel the keen need fer control more 'n anythin' right now. Ye ne'er want ter feel that same 'elplessness again. But believe me, ye can 'ave control o'er yer own life wi'out forcin' control o'er others'. T'were a lesson I 'ad ta learn meself. The 'ard way."

The sword hung limply in the hare's paw now, pointed harmlessly at the ground. Killian's shoulders sank and he nodded his head resignedly. Chak patted his shoulder once before turning back to observe the __Phantom's__ progress.

"Haul in the spanker!" the bos'n cried.

Chak pursed his lips with a frown. "Too slow." He shook his head. "We be movin' too slow… "

Reedox approached, eyeing Colonel Wrightbones with a frown. "Some of the teams are missing multiple members – it's slowing their progress."

The hare blinked, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I'll go lend a bally paw, wot?" He trotted hurriedly off.

Another series of blasts sounded from the __Zephyr__. "'Eads up!" Chak called out. A cannonball crashed through the rigging, snapping lines and tearing a hole through one of the square sails while another clipped the bowsprit. Several others landed in the water around them, dousing them with salty spray.

Chak turned, gripping Reedox firmly by both shoulders. "Reed, if we be goin' down again, I ain't gonna 'ave a repeat o' las' time. Grab a 'andful o' yer mates an' make sure all them beasts in the brig be freed." Reedox jumped into action, dashing away as the bos'n gave the next command.

"Slack off the headsail sheets!"

Suddenly a rumbling blast shook the timbers of the Phantom. Chak's gaze snapped apprehensively toward the __Zephyr__. A giant, flaming black cloud of smoke rose from the ship's main deck. Chak could hear beasts yelling and screaming as they ran hither and thither. The ship began to tilt with a long, low groan. The __Zephyr__ had obviously been crippled, and its cannons had stopped firing.

A cheer arose from the crew of the __Phantom__ , but Chak could not tear his eyes from the larger vessel, worry etched across his face.

Soon Reedox, Vera and Hylan joined him, staring out across the churning waters at the listing galleon.

"What __happened?__ " Vera wondered aloud.

"Dunno," Chak answered. "But I 'ave a feelin' Rob 'ad summat ta do wi' it." The sea otter squinted thoughtfully. "When things seem bad, 'e as a way o' makin' 'em turn out fer the better."


	93. Damnation Sieze My Soul

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Damnation Sieze My Soul If I Give You Quarters, or Take Any From You**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

Plink scurried through the empty corridors, following the raised voices to where Robert and Blade faced off. Cannonfire echoed from the battling ships outside, but the _Zephyr_ 's guns sat silent. Plink had relayed the order herself.

 _"Cap'n Blade says to ready the cannons, but stay outta range 'til those escaped slaves use up their ammunition. When they stop shootin', move in an' sink 'em."_

But that wasn't going to happen. Plink would make sure of it.

She followed their voices to a place near the aft stair and peeked around a corner to see the open door. The room beyond was too dark to see, but Plink could hear Robert demanding Blade show himself. She could hear Blade, too, his self-satisfied tone.

"But you're wrong. You'll never triumph over us. Not until you learn one simple fact about us vermin."

Plink's throat seized up in horror. She knew what he kept in that room.

"We are never unarmed."

There was a flash and a heart-stopping boom. The cannon ball smashed through the doorframe and a good length of the wall, knocking Plink on her tail and showering her with splinters. Ears ringing, she clambered to her footpaws and staggered to where Robert had been blown through the demolished doorway. He stared at the smoke clouding above him, blinking rapidly, vacantly. Plink got a grip on his coat and leaned in close in an effort to get him to look at her.

"Mister Robert? Are- are you alright?"

His eyes flicked to her face and he squinted, lifting a shaky paw toward his ear. "Plink? I cain't hear so good..."

Plink shook her head, too relieved to keep from smiling. "That'll pass. We gotta get outta here."

She tried pulling him upright, but he winced and fell back. "M' leg!"

What he clutched was hardly a leg anymore at all. Plink gaped at the mangled footpaw, then the laid-open calf. Sharp bits stuck out of the wound, splinters of wood and bone. Plink's stomach lurched, and she turned away to retch.

When she looked back, she noticed the rapidly-growing pool of blood on the deck. Robert was flat on his back again, grimacing at the ceiling, but his paws were tugging at his belt. Plink hovered over him.

"What do I do? Mister Robert, I don't know what to do!"

"Tourniquet," he grunted, thumbclaws wedged under his belt. "Gotta tie it 'round my leg. Cut off the blood flow. 'Fore I pass out."

The belt - he meant to use his belt to tie around his leg. That would mean getting it out from under his body, though, and there was no time for that. Plink yanked off the black and red sashes she wore and looped them around his thigh where he indicated, cinching them tight. Robert blinked dizzily at her, a lopsided smile tugging at his muzzle.

"G'job, lass. An' you tied a solid bowline, too."

Plink squirmed at the praise and turned to check the wrecked doorway. Beams had fallen across it and the doorframe had splintered outward, obscuring the dark room beyond. Foul-smelling smoke still hung thick on the close air. Blade had made no noise if he was still in there, but Plink didn't want to wait around to find out.

"Mister Robert, we can't stay here. We gotta move now."

"Better you go on, get yourself to safety. I'll be right behind you."

Plink narrowed her eyes and positioned herself near his shoulders, bracing to haul him upright. "I ain't leavin' you, even if I gotta carry you up all those stairs myself. Now come on an' help me, or you'll get us both caught fer you bein' so lazy."

Robert wheezed out a quiet laugh. "Heh heh heh, when you put it thata way, I cain't rightly say no."

After a lot of straining and yelping, they managed to get Robert up on his good leg. Plink pulled his arm over her shoulders and wrapped hers around his back and, ignoring the way his quills pricked her arm through his coat, she guided him to the stairs.

The cannonball had blasted clear through a few steps and severed the main support beam that kept the flight steady. As they climbed, the stairs wobbled under their weight. With each hopping step Robert managed, Plink could imagine the planks collapsing beneath them, dropping them down to the hold. She shook under his hefty weight each time it bore down on her. So close to him, Plink could feel how hard he was breathing. He clung to her and to the rail of the aft stair, but he still swayed more than balancing on one leg could account for. He was weak from pain and all that blood he'd lost. Plink shuddered inwardly and grumbled to fill the frightening silence.

"Come on, you heavy old prickledog," she sniffled as she steadied him at the landing and he prepared to take another step. "We gotta get to the main deck."

"We cain't go up there," he wheezed. "S'where all the pirates are…"

"Yeah, well it's where all the lifeboats are, too, an' if this is as good as you can walk, you ain't gonna be swimmin' anyplace." She paused, and her tone softened minutely. "'Sides, the aft stair'll let us out real close to the lifeboats. Maybe we can-"

 _BOOM_

Plink's heart fell and Robert lurched against the wall as the ship swayed. "The cannons!" he gasped. "The Waverunners are movin' in!"

"Maybe," Plink said quietly. She had not heard any shots from the _Phantom_ for a while now. "Come on! We gotta hurry!"

They made their way up past the gun deck and were on the final landing when Plink heard a hammering of footfalls on the deck above. She leapt away from Robert and raced up to see what was happening, clearing the stairs just in time to intercept the pawful of pirates who were about to descend. Without batting an eye, the little rat threw up her paws and puffed up importantly.

"What d'yew lot think yer doin'? Cap'n Blade wants all paws on deck an' at the ready to fight. You'd best all get back to yer stations!"

"We heard a blast from down below," said Surg, the boatswain. He was watching her very closely. "Sounded like it damaged the ship. What happened? Where's the cap'n?"

"He's down near the hold, finishin' off those slaves you let aboard!" Plink glared hard at the weasel, then stepped aside. "The stairs're ruined. If you really wanna see fer yerself, you go on, but the cap'n ain't gonna be happy 'bout you disobeyin' his orders when I tell him."

Surg hesitated before finally curling his lip at her. He grabbed the front of her coat and jerked her close so he could sneer into her face. "Grovelin' liddle snitch. If yew don't watch yer mouth, yer gonna get a knife through yer ribs real soon."

Plink hung from his fist, too stunned to struggle. Though there had been palpable tension during her days aboard the _Zephyr_ , nobeast had openly confronted her this way.

After a beat of silence, Surg shoved her back, nearly sending her toppling down the stairs. "Go on back ter kissin' Blade's tail, Halfrat. An' don' let me catch yer skulkin' around, neither."

Plink dropped down to the first step to catch her balance and glared as Surg and his cronies snickered. She burned to teach them a lesson, the bullies, but Robert was there on the stairs below her. If she did the wrong thing now, something stupid and selfish like picking a fight, she would get him caught.

Glowering under the sting of the pirates' laughter, she lowered herself down another stair, and another after that. Finally, Surg and the rest turned to leave.

Plink waited until their backs were turned, then scurried down to where Robert sat on the stairs with his head hanging low. Afraid he had passed out, she crouched beside him with a paw on his shoulder. Robert's head lolled to the side and he smiled weakly at her from the corner of his eye.

"Still here, lass."

Plink let out a relieved breath and glanced back toward the grey dawn sky above. "We gotta hurry. It ain't gonna be dark enough to cover us much longer."

Robert grunted as she helped him rise and together they climbed the last of the stairs. The deck above was in chaos. Crews were hard at work adjusting sails to catch the light wind, but a great many had splintered off to watch the hazy shadow of the _Phantom_ where it was entangled with a Waverunner ship. Ships were embattled all around. The _Zephyr_ 's cannons sounded again, and another Waverunner vessel shuddered and began nosing into the sea.

Plink had marveled at the explosions flashing against mist and smoke earlier on. Now, she was only grateful for the distraction. With every step, she was terrified that some pirate would spot them and call an alarm, but no cry went up. Plink hustled Robert to the aftmost longboat and helped him clamber inside before following.

They lowered it together, each working one of the ropes rigged to the ends with pulleys, and soon were below the level of the deck. Abruptly, Plink found her end of the boat had dipped out of balance. When she looked at Robert, she saw why. He had stopped lowering his end.

"It ain't right," he panted, staring hazily back up at the deck. "Us runnin' off an' leavin' the others behind this way."

Plink scowled at him, but kept her voice low. "Yer hurt, Mister Robert. The only thing you could do up there is get yerself killed. Yer friends can take care of themselves."

Robert's eyes slid in and out of focus as they settled back on her. "At least you're safe. I been worried sick 'bout you, Miss Plink."

Plink nearly smiled, but found herself chewing her thumbclaw instead. It hurt; she'd chewed it to the quick over the past few days and yet she couldn't seem to let it alone. "Come on, Mister Robert. We ain't safe like this."

They went on lowering the longboat until it was bobbing in the waves, occasionally bumping hard against the _Zephyr_ 's hull. The sound was lost in the din of battle. Plink unhooked the rope from her end of the boat and passed Robert an oar before he could do the same. Then, as she tugged the rope to make it draw back up, she assessed him once more.

The hedgehog clutched the oar loosely, barely staying upright. He only looked tired, but despite the little Plink knew about serious injuries, she was fairly sure it would be bad if he fell asleep.

"Don't unhook that line unless somebeast tries pullin' the boat back up," she said, then tore her eyes from him and fixed them on the rope in her paws. "There's somethin' I need to go back an' do. You've gotta stay awake an' watch fer me, okay?"

Robert gaped at her, so alarmed that he finally managed to sit fully upright. "I'll come with you, then. You cain't be goin' back up there alone."

"You ain't gonna follow me," Plink said quietly. She wasn't arguing, just stating the fact.

Before Robert could disagree, she began climbing the rope, using what remained of her tail to steady her. Out of reach, she peered back down at him, and remembered the last time she had left a friend behind in a longboat. She hadn't come back in time to help Scully. It was probably better not to promise to come back at all, but Robert needed the reassurance. He needed a reason to stay awake.

He gripped the oar in both paws, much more alert now. "You don't have to go, Plink. Whatever it is, there's other beasts as can handle it."

The little rat shook her head. "No beast else is gonna do it, Mister Robert. These're my people. It's my responsibility."

Robert protested again, but Plink just turned and scrambled up the rope. His plaintive tone clung to her in the way of a summer memory lingering on into winter. With her paws occupied with the rope, she had to scrub her face against the stiff shoulder of her coat to clear the tears away.

She was faster alone. In the uproar of the growing battle, Plink crept over the rail like a scuttling shadow and vanished back down the stairs. She climbed down past the broken planks as the cannons shook the blackened and shattered woodwork, and ventured deeper into the ship. Finally, she came to the brig.

Atlas raised his head at her approach, but did not speak.

"It's me," Plink said, though it wasn't necessary. He always knew who she was before she spoke. "There's a fight goin' on. I'm gonna get you outta there, but… ya gotta help me with somethin' before we can get off this ship."

The badgerlord climbed to his feet, and Plink stared. For all his weeks wasting away, for all his sickness and remorse, he was a spectacular beast, so tall he had to duck his head so that it would not bark the ceiling. "If it involves making trouble for Blade, I will do anything in my power, miss."

"G-good." Plink licked her whiskers on one side and dug in her pocket for the stolen key. Though she knew Atlas was blind and no longer wanted to hack her to pieces, her paw still shook as she unlocked the cell door. "Alright," she said, backing up a few steps. "This way."

Atlas followed her, trailing his massive paws along the walls of the corridor. Plink guided him to the room with the heap of uniforms. He stopped in the doorway, his snout wrinkling in disgust. "What is that ghastly smell? Brimstone?"

"It's Blade's explodin' powder." Plink tossed aside the most ragged uniforms to uncover her hidden inventions. "Come closer. I can't carry these far. They got too heavy."

"What are they?" Atlas asked, shuffling closer.

Plink grunted as she sat one of the improvised sacks up on end, but she couldn't help smiling. "Old Waverunner uniforms sewn shut an' filled with black powder. I call 'em 'Runner Dummies." Her smile faded as she watched Atlas's big paw settle tenderly on the stained blue fabric. "But I guess that ain't very nice."

Atlas felt along the fat torso and packed sleeves of the coat, and his mouth quirked tightly upward at one corner. "Children are notoriously cruel." He patted around, feeling the other five dummies. "How did you get all this black powder without anybeast noticing?"

"I stole it a little at a time from the reserve barrels. Nobeast checks those. An' the night guards were always sleepin' on the job." Plink watched Atlas lift one dummy under his arm, then tuck in a second beside it as easily as if they were pillows. "Alright, this way."

She led him down the corridor to the room full of wine barrels and to the shelves that had once been lined with winter squash. "I'll climb up through the hole, an' you pass 'em through to me."

"The hole?" Plink did not see the badger's ears twitch as she climbed the shelves and dislodged the loose floor board, but when she hoisted herself through into the infirmary and looked back, his snout was turned up toward her, poking into the light of the single oil lamp that sat on the nearby cabinet.

The infirmary was trashed, broken bottles of ointment and herbal blends scattered about the floor. Atlas must have smelled the spilled medicines. "So this is how you were getting in," he rumbled as he lifted a dummy up and slid it onto the infirmary floor. "Miss Crue was having fits about you."

"I know."

Plink ducked her head and heaved with all her might to drag the dummy across the polished floorboards. A large post had been installed in the center of the room to support the cannon on the level above. As Plink arranged the dummy against the post, she could hear the crew overhead, working to prepare their gun for another blow.

Atlas lifted the next dummy up and Plink hurried to drag it into place. As soon as she had finished, he returned with the next two dummies. It was when he had gone again, when Plink was just beginning to shove the forth dummy toward the post, that the door opened behind her and a familiar voice froze her in her tracks.

"Aren't you a bit old t' be playing with dolls, Miss Plink?"

Plink turned slowly to face Blade where he filled the doorway, Robert's sword in one paw and some glimmering object barely peeking through his other fist. In contrast to his light, almost playful words, his expression was murderous. He sniffed the air and his eyes narrowed to hateful slits.

"But then, those aren't exactly filled with straw an' lavender, are they?"

Plink fought to keep her eyes on him and not flick to the hole in the floor, her one escape route from that sword and the much bigger beast wielding it. "Cap'n, it ain't what-"

"I don't want to hear your lies." He took one threatening step closer. "Too late for that, now. I saw you help that hedgehog escape, you wretched little traitor. And I know that's not all you've been up to."

He raised up his fist suddenly and let the ruby fall to the end of its silver chain, shimmying in the light of the oil lamp. Plink stared at the glimmering stone, remembering - it was the necklace she had barely noticed in the drawer with Scully's dagger.

"I think you forgot something while you were making free with my affects," Blade growled. He took a step closer. "It belongs to your friend, you know. Admit the truth and I'll give it to you."

Plink held up her paws in a forestalling gesture. "I don't know what yer talkin' about, sir."

"Admit it! Admit you were in cahoots with that thievin' vixen all along. Admit you knew she stole from me an' never said a word."

Blade stepped closer still as he spoke. The ruby sparked and glimmered where it hung between them.

Just as it had when it hung between Vera and Ciera in the jungle, seconds before Murdin's corpse hit the sand, bleeding from his gashed throat.

Plink tore her eyes from the gem and ducked just as Blade slashed at her. The sword breezed over her head and struck the post, biting deep. Plink made to dart for the door, but Blade abandoned his weapon to grab a fistful of her scruff and drag her back. Desperate with pain and alarm, the little rat wrenched the dagger from her sash and twisted against him, sawing at the nearest part of him. With a howl, Blade released her and staggered back, clutching his sliced forearm.

Blood and the ruby hit the deck and, rather than dodging past him to escape, Plink paused. Slowly, she bent down to pick up the amulet and straightened, clutching it near her chest.

"Vera never stole from you," she said, meeting Blade's infuriated eye. "It was me. I used fox perfume to cover my scent an' I stole a diamond. I shouldn't've done it, an' I'm sorry…" Plink frowned, narrowing her own eyes at him. "But more to Vera than you. You ain't what I thought you were, at all."

"Oh no?" Blade sneered. He lowered his paw from his bleeding forearm and stepped toward the post where his sword was still lodged. "Do enlighten me. What did you think I was?"

Plink watched him edge toward the weapon and stepped back. Her shadow, cast by the oil lamp behind her, swept over the ferret. "I thought you were lookin' out fer us, but it's just yerself you care about. Yer treasure, yer cannons… yer power. We'd be better off without the lot of it, an' without you."

She kicked over the dummy at her footpaws. Blade jumped as if expecting it to explode. When it didn't, when it only flopped over and ripped open at the top, spewing black powder across the floor around his footpaws, he wrenched his cutlass from the post and glared at her.

Plink glared right back, but her next words came out choked. "Why'd you kill Scully? He just wanted to help you."

"You mean Mister Hagglethrump?" Blade curled his lip on the name. "Your little friend was as much a traitorous liar as you turned out to be. Not to worry, though. I'm sure you'll see him in Hellgates directly."

He lunged for her and Plink darted back, hooking her dagger through the brass loop of the oil lamp and slinging the hot glass vessel to the floor between them. Blade danced back from the sudden blaze, and Plink dove for the hole in the floor as the scattered black powder erupted in a hiss of sparks.

Falling into the darker hold below, Plink braced herself to hit the floor or the shelves. Instead, huge paws caught her and she felt herself rushed away as an explosion overhead rocked the ship. There was an ear-splitting crash as timbers broke and a mass of steel came crashing through the infirmary ceiling.

In the silence that followed, Plink clung to Atlas, only barely aware of the noise building around her. Screams leaked through the floor from the fallen cannon crew, but more chilling than that was the squeal of planks and joists as the floor bowed overhead.

"It's gonna come down," Plink managed to shriek, clawing to get away from the badger as flaming oil dribbled from the ceiling and onto the last two dummies.

Atlas turned and managed three steps toward the door before a blast sent him flying into the opposite wall of the corridor. He sagged, and Plink struggled out from under his huge arm, coughing in the smoke and dust. When it cleared enough for her to see, she gaped.

Daylight glowed through the wreckage from a hole twice the height and breadth of the badgerlord. The cannon and much of the floor had been blown through the hull, leaving a massive empty space criss-crossed with broken beams and dying pirates. Plink stared as water began sweeping in, lapping toward her with deceptive gentleness.

Beside her, Atlas groaned. Roused from her stupor, Plink found herself with the dagger still in one paw and the amulet in the other. Pocketing the amulet, she shook his enormous shoulder ineffectually. "Come on! We gotta get outta here!"

"Blade," Atlas growled as he pushed himself up. "Is he dead?"

"Yes! Now would you-" Plink stopped as the badger's paw closed around her forearm.

"Did you see him die?" he asked deliberately.

"I- He had to've died. The explosion was so big," she hurried on, "I don't see how he could've got away."

Atlas sighed and climbed to his footpaws. "I won't take the chance that he did. You run along, miss. Get off this ship while you still can."

Plink didn't move, except to bite at her raw thumbclaw as she assessed him. "Yer blind, sir. It ain't right to just leave you all alone…"

Unerringly, Atlas reached out and tugged her paw from where she'd been chewing at it. "I am not so helpless as all that. Besides, a blind beast may still face his destiny."

Plink opened her mouth to argue, but the deck began listing toward the hole. Atlas pushed her toward the stairs. "Go now!"

She went, driven to a sprint by his hoarse bark. She scrambled out of the hold and dashed up to the cannon deck. Smoke and chaos ruled the cleared-out space. The ship listed hard to port now, and as Plink paused to watch, a cannon snapped its restraints and went rolling from starboard to port, smashing through wood and bone with equal ease. Pirates had abandoned their stations and were kicking and clawing one another in their efforts to flee up the fore stair. The wild-eyed crowd who had chosen the aft stairs squeezed together on the narrower flight. Plink joined them easily, gripping the rail as she followed on an unknown stoat's heels.

An agonized groan of failing wood welled up from beneath them and, with a monumental crash, the stairs collapsed. Plink clung to the rail and gaped at the fallen beasts below, many too broken now to flee. Swallowing back another wave of sickness, she hauled herself upward along the sturdy railing, clawing her way onto the stairs that had survived.

On the main deck, Plink dodged through the crowd as fights broke out in and around the overcrowded longboats. The _Zephyr_ shuddered and groaned beneath her, pitching her to all fours on the stairs to the aftcastle. As she came level to the deck, her hackles rose at the sight before her.

A pawful of pirates were climbing over the gunwale and down the rope toward the longboat Plink had helped lower. Toward Robert.

Of course he wouldn't leave without her, even with the ship sinking and his longboat about to be overrun. It shocked Plink to realize that in her rush to reach the deck, it had never occurred to her that he might not be there when she arrived.

And now that stalwartness was about to get him killed.

Plink leapt between the distracted pirates and onto the gunwale, slamming into a weasel who was mid-reach for the rope. His arms windmilled as he tipped off the edge and fell screaming toward the water far below. His comrades on the rope and the deck watched him fall, then looked up at Plink in fury and confusion.

She leapt for the rope just as the nearest pirates swiped their claws through the air where she had been. They grabbed for her, tearing her coat and roaring and spitting curses, but Plink rapidly descended the rope and was quickly out of their grasp.

The rat on the rope beneath her was glaring up at her. "Wha'd ya do that fer? Wurli didn't do nothin' ter yew!"

The one-eyed stoat below him sneered, her snout crinkling nastily below her eyepatch. "That be th' Halfrat, dingy. She's like to got a soft spot fer woodlander scum."

"You stay away from Robert!" Plink dropped down the rope with all the speed and agility it had taken to outclimb Maurick on his tree and stomped the rat in the snout. He grunted and lost his grip on the rope, but he had been using his tail to steady himself. When his claws slipped free, he swung briefly by his tail, slamming bodily into the stoat below him.

She snarled and kicked him away, sending him flying without so much as a pause. Then she rolled her one eyed glare up to Plink. "Yer dead, Halfrat."

Steel rang as she drew the scimitar from her hip.

A quiver in the rope alerted Plink to more danger and she looked up to see a tattooed marten shimmying down toward her with a long knife clenched between his teeth. If she went down, the stoat would slash her before she ever got close, but there was no other way to go. Plink hesitated.

Far below, steel rang against wood followed by a crash of water. "I cain't be lettin' you beasts aboard armed," Robert panted, "but if'n you'll just surrender your weapons-"

"'E's gettin' tired! Cut 'im down! Take 'is oar an' gut that thorny devil!"

Plink knew that voice as well. It was Surg, the boatswain. More than that, though, she knew he was right. Robert sounded exhausted. She had to do something.

Plink dropped toward the stoat, pulling herself to a sudden stop just out of reach. The stoat slashed at her, her scimitar nicking the tough rope but flying short of its target. Taking advantage of the backswing, Plink scrambled down the opposite side of the rope, ducking to one side and using the stoat's own body to avoid her weapon.

The stoat let out a frenzied snarl. "Hol' still yer dirty liddle-"

Her scimitar bit deep into the rope overhead and both stoat and rat paused to watch the fibers separate and spiral off under the weight of all the pirates below. Then, both broke into action at once.

"We gorra bad rope," the stoat shouted as she struggled to sheathe her weapon and climb at the same time. "She's gonna snap!"

With empty paws and new desperation, Plink dropped quickly past the stoat and the confused rats below her. She stepped on paws and faces heedlessly, occasionally gripping tails instead of the rope. Not far below, there was a thump and scratch of impact as Surg kicked Robert in the gut, sending him sprawling back in the longboat. The hedgehog's face twisted in pain as he clutched his injured leg. The weasel loomed over him, cutlass raised.

Plink let go of the rope and fell hard on the pirate's shoulders, sending them both to the belly of the longboat in a groaning, swearing heap.

"What the blazes are yew-?" Surg twisted his neck around to see who had hit him and his glare turned from sour to icy. His claws tightened around the hilt of his cutlass as he began climbing to his footpaws. "If it ain't Blade's toady. Where's the cap'n ter protect ye now, Halfrat?"

"Blade's dead." Plink drew the dagger and held it at the ready. She knew that her chances of fending off a cutlass with it were slim, but when she balanced on a bench between Robert and Surg and stood nearly as tall as her enemy, her doubts did not show. "Get yerself off this boat or I'll send you to follow him."

Surg glanced at the blood-stained dagger and the unflinching little beast who held it.

"Alright," he said at length, lowering his cutlass. "Alright, I see what yer doin'. It's Burnet, ain't it? That wildcat had sommat on ye and she told ye ter kill 'im. An' now yer gonna join 'er crew, aye?" He smiled toothily, perhaps seeing some measure of confirmation in Plink's expression. "I could be a help to ye, y'know. It's always a good idear t' have a mate like me in a crew."

"I ain't with Burnet," Plink snapped. "She's just as bad as Blade, grabbin' power an' throwin' beasts' lives away like they're nothin' but tools!"

Surg's eyes narrowed. "Then ye really are a double-crosser." He raised the tip of his cutlass to indicate Robert behind her. "Ye betrayed Cap'n Blade fer this Waverunner trash."

"Blade betrayed _us_!"

A pair of rats had climbed down onto the end of the boat and were helping a third down when the rope snapped. The third rat and the one-eyed stoat squawked before crashing into the water. At the noise, Surg turned to look.

Plink didn't waste a second. She snatched up Robert's fallen oar and swung it clumsily, knocking the unsuspecting weasel overboard. The two rats looked up from where they had been urging their comrade to climb aboard. Plink raised the oar with some effort, but Robert spoke first.

"Surrender your weapons, you lot. None o' your captains are comin' back for you, now."

Plink was as startled by his words as the other rats, and she looked up at the ships around them just as they did. With the _Zephyr_ clearly sinking and the Waverunners fighting hard, the pirate fleet had crumbled. Plink picked out the _Deathblow_ leading five ships off to the west, but the other remaining pirate vessels were either captured, scattered, or sunk by the _Phantom_ 's cannons. Waverunner ships were everywhere, sweeping between patches of wreckage like vultures.

"There ain't many options left to you, boyos," Robert said in his firm, kind way. "Either you surrender your weapons now and come peacefully, or those goodbeasts'll chase you down and arrest you proper."

Plink looked at the downed hedgehog and, even though she knew his injuries would prevent him from personally backing up the threat, she felt the condemnation of his words. His eyes flicked briefly to her and he winked, but that only made her feel worse.

There was a chorus of splashes as the rats tossed their weapons overboard and hauled up their friend. Plink watched warily as they pulled up the one-eyed stoat. Surg, she noticed, had swum off toward another longboat.

"Plink," Robert said more quietly. She peered back over her shoulder at him, uncertain, confused to see his easy smile. "Let's let those fellows do the rowin'. Ain't no reason to be gluttons for hard work today."

She nodded stiffly and relinquished her oar. From where he sat, Robert directed the four pirates to take up oars and row. They gave him sour looks - especially the stoat - but fell into line. Plink felt their glares linger on her like a physical touch.

The _Zephyr_ was listing deep into the ocean now, and occasional thunderous cracks announced the massive ship was coming apart. Pirates thrashed amongst the debris spreading all around, but there was no sign of Atlas. Plink watched the towering masts quaver against the bruised morning sky. A warm paw settled on her shoulder, but she couldn't bring herself to look at Robert when he spoke.

"That was a mighty brave thing to do, lass."

"You mean betrayin' my people or murderin' all those beasts with the explodin' powder?"

The tough pads of his paw squeezed gently, and Plink finally looked at him from the corner of her eye. The pity in his expression burned her like hot ash. "You made a hard choice. It ain't ever supposed to be easy, takin' a life, an' it ain't a decision a beast young as you should ever have to make. But I think of all the innocent beasts back in Mossflower who'd have suffered if Blade made landfall an'…" He shook his big head and blinked hard. "I'm glad for what you did."

Plink thought of all the innocent beasts in Mossflower, going about their stupid, happy lives, and she thought of all the vermin bodies blasted unrecognizable in the ruins of the _Zephyr_. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It was just the easy way to deal with the problem.

The hard way, the way that was right by Plink - that was the difficult road ahead.


	94. The Weight of the World

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

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 **The Weight of the World**

 _By: Airan (Admin)_

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Atlas hit the floor with only a grunt and a splash, wood creaking beneath his massive footpaws as he steadied himself and stood. Outside, the badger could still hear every scream and every crash of timber as the battle between the Waverunners and Blade's pirates continued to rage on, neither side submitting to the other. But, if it was one thing that he knew for a fact, it was that a serpent without a head would cease to struggle, and the pirates would scatter and flee the moment their king was slain. Just as they had before and just as they always would.

Atlas stepped forward, feeling the water begin to grow slightly deeper. The tools that the young rat, Plink, used to cause the explosion had done their purpose. The _Zephyr_ was mortally wounded and it and everybeast aboard would soon be underwater.

Despite his injuries and his newfound lack of sight, the badger pressed onward, keeping his paw extended in front of him as he stumbled forward through the lower level of the _Zephyr_ after his nemesis, and stopping when his claws rattled against something metallic. Cautiously he examined the noise, running his paw over it once more. The jingle of a countless number of coins and jewels piled in the room greeted his ears and the badger snorted. Of all the places for Blade to run to, it would of course be his treasure room. Atlas continued searching with his paw until he touched the grainy wood of one of the walls. He traced his paw over the surface, following its angle and using it to guide him through the rest of the room as he listened carefully for any sound that might betray the pirate king's presence.

Blindness was different than the badgerlord ever initially thought. It was not white, nor was it black, but simply nothingness as if he were standing forward and trying to perceive what was behind him. When he awoke in the cold, stone prison Blade created for him, he remembered wondering if he were actually dead. Nothing was around him, no darkness or light, just simply nothing, until a paw, a vermin paw, touched his shoulder tenderly.

 _"I'm sorry."_

And while his sight was taken, so too was the red mist of the Bloodwrath that swirled within it. The badger could still feel it churning in his mind, but uselessly. Without his vision, no more could he see Hearth and the rest of the world burning before his eyes, murderous, cackling children or traitorous soldiers daring to betray him, pirates who spoke of peace but stood atop a mound of corpses, and other hallucinations that drove him to madness. It was strange to say, but without his vision, Atlas felt finally able to see.

There was a sudden splash in front of him as somebeast quickly darted through the room and tore open a door, before slamming it back shut with a click of a lock. Atlas growled and pushed off from the wall, trudging through the water as it began to grow deeper around him. The badger's arm brushed against the door handle and he quickly seized it, pulling on it but the lock held firm. He released the handle and took a step back before slamming into it with all of his weight. With a splinter of wood, the door tore from its hinges and splashed into the water that flooded the ground.

It was up to the badger's knees now and he pushed through it into the room cautiously, keeping one paw held in front of him and the other firmly on the wall. In the corner of the room, Atlas heard somebeast panting and smiled. Whatever room Blade held himself in apparently only had one exit and it was being blocked by a massive badger. He was trapped.

"You beasts certainly are determined, aren't you?" the ferret's voice came with a chuckle and a wheeze. Blade smelled of black powder and singed fur, a result from Plink's trick. Atlas followed the voice and took a step closer but was careful not to stray too far from the doorway.

"It's over, Blade," Atlas spoke calmly.

Blade continued talking, a hint of disappointment in his tone. "You know, Ciera told me that I should have killed you when I had the chance. Obviously, I refused. Do you want to know why?" Atlas didn't answer him, but after a few moments the ferret continued anyway. "I thought it would be poetic if you were blind t' the world while I made it and everythin' you ever built crumble around you, and listen t' beasts crying your name desperately but be unable t' stop it. I wanted it t' drive you truly mad, like it did me. For close t' ten seasons I've been held up on that island, unable to see or stop you from destroyin' every last remnant of my empire. Messengers brought me news of how you were filled with rage, taken over by the Bloodwrath. How you slaughtered the captains and pirates I once knew with no mercy.

"And, of course, I could do nothing about it. If I revealed myself, you would surely slaughter me as well. So, all I could do was hide, like a bloody rat, while I tinkered until I made something that I could destroy _your_ world with, and get revenge for everythin' you took from me," Blade finished.

Atlas snorted. "Don't act like you care about those beasts I killed, Blade. They were and always will be tools to you."

The ferret roared with laughter, the noise echoing around the room. "No. No. You've got it wrong, Atlas, because you're correct. They are tools. All of them. But, that's not where I was goin' with that. No, you slaughtered them. Every last one and you took no prisoners. No, what I want t' know is why am _I_ still alive?" Blade said. "With how you were described, I should be dead right now. Somehow you conquered it. The Bloodwrath. How?"

Atlas shook his head. "No, I still feel it brew in my head like a thundercloud. But, without it tinting my sight red, I've felt more at peace now than I have in the last ten seasons. For once, I believe I can be in control. I will not be that monster again."

"Is that so?" Blade retorted.

"Yes," Atlas answered, taking another step forward carefully through the water. "Blade. It's over. Around you, my Waverunners are routing your vessels or scattering them away, and soon the _Zephyr_ and all the weapons you have built will have vanished in the depths. You've lost. However, I do not wish to be your executioner. I cannot give you your freedom, but if you surrender now, I can give you your life."

The room was quiet as the ferret seemingly pondered the question. Finally, he began to speak. "It seems as though I don't have many other options at this point, do I? You're right. I've lost. I surrender," Blade said as Atlas began walking towards the pirate's voice. "But, answer me somethin' first, Atlas. Do you remember now, or are your memories still clouded?"

The voice was directly in front of the badger now. "Remember what?" Atlas asked.

The ferret chuckled."When I did _this!_ "

Atlas howled as iron struck his skull like a thunderbolt and sharp spikes rent through his flesh, the sudden force of Blade's mace sending him splashing into the water below. It was only a moment later before the weapon smashed against him once more and then a third time, Blade nearly stumbling from the weight of it.

"I made all of this, Atlas. The ships, the cannons. Do you really think I'm goin' t' let you of all beasts take it from me?!" Blade screamed. Atlas' breath was knocked from his lungs as the mace swung into his stomach, spikes puncturing deep holes in his flesh. "Nobeast will! Not Ciera, nor that blasted hedgehog or Scarcrab's brat..." Water rushed into Atlas' open mouth as Blade swung the weapon into his shoulder with a crunch of bone.

"And most certainly not you!"

Atlas felt the ferret's footpaw brush against his side and he quickly turned and lashed out with his claws. Blade yelped and jumped back from the attack, scrambling away with a splash of water before the badger could get a firm grasp on him. Atlas got to his footpaws and stumbled against a wall, allowing it to support him as he clutched at the wounds on his chest and head. The badger felt blood spilling into his paws.

"You always were a coward, Blade," Atlas panted. "You only kill what you know can't fight back, and the moment they do, you'll turn tail and flee. For once, face me like a warrior."

"I only fight battles I know I can win," Blade growled.

"You can't win this one," Atlas said, stepping forward away from the wall. "Neither can I. We're relics, Blade. Your age of piracy, my war for justice... they're as dead as we are. The world is always changing, and it left us behind a long time ago. Luckily, there are beasts outside fighting for the right reasons. Vermin and woodlander alike who will protect the world from broken relics like us."

The ferret chuckled. "You think if I die, that the seas will remain calm? That there will be peace? Do you truly believe the world will be at a lack for tyrants and warlords? There will always be another. Some ambitious, clever beast who will look to my legend and take my name for themselves. You can kill me, Atlas, but Captain Blade will never die. And where will you be then?"

Atlas smiled confidently, reaching into his mind to recite an old Waverunner pledge. "Be it ocean, shore, wood or glade, we'll never falter, never fade. Where ever oppression comes to light, "Eulalia!" shall sound the fight!

"Of course it will." The badger heard Blade chuckle as the ferret moved from the corner of the room with a noticeable splash. "That's a lovely word, Eulalia. I was curious once on a borin' afternoon, and decided I wanted t' learn more about your species's language, more specifically what 'Eulalia' actually meant. It didn't take too long t' find. It means 'To Victory,' but I'm sure you knew that, Atlas."

"Yes. I do."

There was silence after that as if Blade had suddenly stopped moving in the water, but without his sight, Atlas had no way of knowing if that were true. Carefully, the badger turned around him, keeping one paw held tightly on his wound and the other outstretched and ready in case the ferret tried something. Something splashed noisily behind him and Atlas turned quickly in its direction expecting an attack but nothing came. Another splash came to his right and he lunged at it, his claws curling around a piece of thrown driftwood.

Atlas let it slide from his paws back into the rising water and began to back up to where he knew the door was. Blade was plotting something. And then came a whisper in the badger's ear, the ferret's voice like a snake's from where he had been standing only a few taillengths behind him.

"Eulalia."

"ATLAS, BEHIND YOU!" Frederick's voice rang out as he dashed into the room suddenly.

Atlas spun quickly around and raised his arm, catching the head of the mace only a moment before it made contact with the back of his skull. The badger howled as the spikes pierced completely through the flesh of his paws, but he didn't let go, and before Blade could dart back away from him, Atlas tore the weapon away from the ferret and swung with all of his might.

Blade's scream was cut short as the mace crashed directly into his stomach, all breath taken from him in a single instant as the weight of Atlas' swing sent him sailing across the room and crashing into the wall with a crack and then a splash. Bubbles exploded on the surface as the pirate king howled and clutched at his chest underwater, kicking his legs as he struggled to get to his footpaws. The ferret's head broke the surface and he gasped for breath, stumbling backwards into the wall and watching as the water around him grew red.

Atlas stepped forward.

"Atlas," Blade begged, coughing up blood, "d-d-d-do you remember what you said? You told me that you didn't want t' be a monster anymore. I'll live my life in chains, Atlas. You don't have t' be my executioner."

The badger raised the mace. "You're right. I don't."

Blade's eyes grew fearfully as the shadow of the weapon loomed above, his scream echoing around the room before being drowned with a single crack and a splash.

Atlas stood quietly for a moment, holding the mace still in preparation for another trick. A quiet noise of somebeast wading through the water behind him reminded him of Frederick's presence. "Frederick," the badger said with a pant. "Is he dead? I need to know."

A single heartbeat passed before the hare answered him. "Yes."

"Good." The mace fell from Atlas' bloodied paw and sank to the floor with a _thunk_. Blood dripped from Atlas head wound and his paw returned to his stomach as he limped towards the colonel.

"Atlas! You're wounded, sir. Let me- let me help you." The badger took his friend's paw and let him lead him out of the room like a young child and back into the treasure room. As he walked, Atlas felt the Bloodwrath begin to fade from his mind and body. Pain, something he hadn't felt for ten seasons, slowly began to erupt from every wound that Blade inflicted, burning like the hottest flames, and his legs shook underneath his weight. The ship lurched suddenly and Atlas lost his grip, gasping before falling to the floor in a heap.

"Atlas!" Frederick rolled him over carefully and did his best to pull the badger to where he could rest comfortably against the wall. Atlas felt the hare touch his wounded chest and winced. "Sorry, sir. We need to get you to an infirmary. We have beasts over on the _Phantom_ that can-"

"No, Frederick," Atlas said with a shake of his head. "I believe... I believe that this is my last journey."

"What? No!" the hare shouted, but quickly composed himself. "With all due respect, sir, we can still make it. I can... I can... I can bally well carry you, wot. I can get you back."

"All by yourself, Frederick?"

"No, I can get others if need be-"

"And who would be willing to help you?"

The hare was silent.

Atlas smiled softly and placed a paw on the hare's shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything that I've done, my friend. I hurt you, and sent many more beasts to their graves with my paws. I wish... that I could have controlled myself, and even in the end I was still a monster."

"Atlas, stop it! I won't let you die, wot!" the hare protested.

Atlas shook his head. "No. This is the end for me. A captain should rightfully go down with their ship." He paused. "Frederick, thank you, for everything that you've done and for being my loyal friend, but the Waverunners don't need me anymore. No, they need somebeast like you. Somebeast who is willing to stand up to beasts like me when they know they've gone too far," Atlas said sadly. "When you return to Salamandastron, you will take over the Waverunners as its leader. Unlike with Killian, I'm of a sound mind now, I can make this decision."

"I can't accept, sir. I gave up when I was made a slave, and we only made it this far because of other beasts. It should be somebeast like Robert."

"No, Rosequill should be with his family, where he belongs," Atlas said. "You will make a good leader, Frederick. You just need to keep your wits about you. The world is changing fast. Don't let yourself be left behind. Former pirates and vermin will soon sail into Hearth looking for a place to belong. It's time we welcome them, for the good of everybeast. Do you agree?"

"Yes, sir," Frederick answered him. "I won't let you down."

"Of course not," Atlas replied. "And when the time comes that another badger takes the call and wanders through Salamandastron's gates," the badger started, "promise me that you will be as good to them as you were to me."The badger paused, feeling rays of sunlight shining on his brow. He smiled. "A new day is dawning, Frederick. With you, and those beasts outside to welcome it, I'm sure that it will be a bright one.

"I'll do my best," Swiftpaw answered.

"Now, I just have one request," Atlas said.

"What is it, sir?"

"I'd like to be able to close my eyes."

Atlas waited patiently as Frederick quickly rushed into the other room, and came back with a soaking wet sash. "I'm sorry, I got it off of Blade, I don't know if it's-"

"It'll do, I'm sure." Carefully, Frederick tied the sash around Atlas' face, letting it cover his eyes. "Thank you, friend," Atlas said. As he let his paw fall from Frederick's shoulder, the badger felt what was like two drops of rain fall upon it. Though he could not see it, he knew the hare was weeping, and would be the only one who would.

But despite it all, Atlas smiled. The weight of the world was a terrible burden to bear, but it was in good strong paws now, he was sure. And as the life faded from Atlas' body, the dawn sun continued to rise.


	95. History is Written by The Victors

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **History is Written by The Victors**

 _By: Vera_

* * *

When Chak ordered the _Phantom_ to be sailed close to the wreckage of the _Zephyr_ and a sunken Waverunner ship so that they could pick up the survivors that clung to the flotsam, Vera recruited a few helpers from among the crew to assist her in the galley. Once safely aboard and resting on deck, their allies found themselves handed bowls of porridge studded with mango and nuts, as well as cups of tea to warm them. The surviving pirates plucked from the sea found themselves in the brig.

A hare that Vera recognized from the crew Robert had led to the _Zephyr_ was helped over the rail. Chak approached him. "Whar be Rob?"

The hare shook his head. "Lost sight 'o him during the fightin', chap. Sorry."

Vera watched as the otter blew an exasperated breath. "He might be getting picked up by another ship, Chak," she offered, though her own hopes for the hedgehog's survival were quite small.

The otter grunted and went back to scanning the waves.

After a while, a rowboat was spotted making its way towards them. A small figure waved to the _Phantom_ and called out.

"Ahoy!"

Vera shaded her eyes to look and grinned. "It's Plink! Chak, it's Plink and I think she's got Robert with her!"

The sea otter bounded to the rail and gave directions for ropes to be thrown to the rowboat. Then he went over the side himself. Moments later, his voice rang out. "Rob be 'urt! Somebeast lend me a paw."

Vera leaned over the rail, noting the weakened hedgehog slumped at the prow of the rowboat. Red-stained cloth had been wrapped around one of the hedgehog's legs and though he smiled and tried to shrug away the otter's attempts at help, he clearly was in no shape to stand, much less climb the rope to the _Phantom_.

Vera tapped a claw to her lips then ran across the deck and down into the crew's quarters, where she grabbed one of the hammocks that they slept in at night. Wadding the canvas in a lumpy ball so she wouldn't trip on it, she hurried back to the rail.

"Use this to get Robert aboard," she said and a pair of sailors knotted ropes on either end of the hammock before lowering it down.

In short order, the hedgehog had been helped aboard and taken to the stern cabin with the other wounded. Vera lingered by the rail until Plink came over it.

"Plink! You're alive! I was worried about you."

"I'm fine, Miss Vera," the rat muttered as she turned to look back at the flotsam from the _Zephyr._

"I'm sorry. You probably had friends there, didn't you?"

But the rat shook her head. "Not friends, just... I didn't want them to..."

Vera took a deep breath and put her paws on the rat's shoulders. "Plink. I want to apologize."

She looked up at Vera in surprise. "To me? What for?"

"For what I said back on Dead Rock. For blaming you. What happened to me... that wasn't your fault. You were only trying to protect yourself. I would have done the same in your situation. I'm sorry I reacted so badly."

Plink shook her head, frowning. "But it _was_ my fault. I stole an' lied an' I deserved everything you said." She began digging in her pocket. "I know it ain't gonna make up for any of it, but I got this..."

"Oh, Plink, that's not necessary." She put a paw on the ratmaid's arm. "You don't owe me anything. It's enough that I know you're alive. I'm so glad you got off that ship. I can't help but feel responsible for it. If I had..." she trailed off as Plink shrugged away from her paw and pulled out something on a silver chain.

"Cap'n Blade had this," Plink muttered. "An' I remember Cap'n Ciera had it an' that I thought it was yours... I thought, maybe, you'd like to have it back. I..." She held up the ruby amulet, offering it to Vera. "I'm sorry, Miss Vera."

Shakily, Vera took it from Plink's paw. "I thought it was gone forever..." she whispered and looked at it lying in her paw for a moment. Then she closed her fist around it and threw her arms around Plink's neck, which drew a startled squeak from the rat. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she murmured. "You... didn't have to do this," she released Plink, who was obviously uncomfortable from the vixen's affections. "You have no reason to apologize or be sorry. I'm sorry too, because I was wrong. I've been wrong about a lot of things. Things I hope that I can make right, somehow." She looked down at the deck of the ship for a moment, then back up. "Listen to me, Plink. I know you think you don't belong and that there's not a place for you, but I know there can be. I don't know what you plan on doing from here on out, but if you ever need a place to stay, or a job, or a home, you tell me. I mean that. You're my friend and I'll help you in whatever way I can."

Plink stared at her, then blinked rapidly and nodded. "Aye, arright. I'll... arright."

Vera straightened and tucked her amulet back in her pocket, next to Fildering's picture. The solemnity of the moment was shattered suddenly by Hylan grabbing her and whirling her around in a hug.

When she managed to extricate herself a moment later, Plink was gone, vanished into the crowd. Vera guessed that the ratmaid had gone after Robert and made a note to check up on her later.

"Smell that, Vera!" Hylan crowed, dragging her attention back to him. "It's the smell of freedom and victory."

"It's the smell of black powder and me needing a bath," she responded tartly, actually looking down at herself for the first time in a while. I'm filthy!"

"Aye, more a black fox than a red one, eh?" He grinned at her and took a deep breath as he tilted his head back. "You have no idea how good it feels, Vers. My own beast again, after all this time."

She started back towards the galley with him beside her. "I bet you're looking forward to going home."

The pine marten suddenly stilled. He looked out to sea, his branded brow furrowing. "Home... I... guess I hadn't thought about that..."

"What do you mean," Vera asked. "Don't you want to go home?"

He stood quiet for a long time. "I do. I really do. But I guess... I gave up hope of home seasons ago. I thought I'd die in that mine, like I saw so many others do. Even when we escaped, I was so certain that we'd die taking out Blade..." He shrugged. "What's the point of longing for something you can't have again." He reached a trembling paw up to his face, touching one of the brands on his cheeks. "How can I go back like this?"

Vera swallowed and slowly took his paw down from his face and held it in hers. "Hylan, nobeast will care. You were thought to be dead. Going back to Birchwood might be hard at first, but you were loved there. Everybeast will be so happy to see you."

"I'm not the same beast I was. I've changed."

She gave his paw a squeeze. "Don't worry. We'll go back together." Somebeast shouted from the bow, spotting more survivors in the water. "Keep helping, Hylan. We'll talk later. I need to make sure food and tea has been brought to the injured."

He exhaled slowly and went back to work, leaving Vera to her own duties. Now conscious of just how filthy she was, Vera scampered back to the galley and took a moment to change into a clean apron and wipe off the worst of the soot from her fur.

While changing the apron, she pulled out Fildering's picture and her newly regained amulet. The scarlet jewel shimmered in her paw, but somehow it just didn't look as beautiful as Vera remembered it once had. She once would have tossed everything aside in exchange for the necklace in her paw, but no more. Other things were far more precious and valuable.

She placed her two possessions, amulet and shell-encased picture, in the pocket of a clean apron, and went in search of her helpers to make sure there was enough soup and tea to go around.

Out on deck, she spotted Colonel Swiftpaw being helped over the rail. Vera snagged one of her earlier recruited helpers and sent him scurrying for food for the colonel as she took charge of the tea pot and the last cup.

An otter helped Colonel Swiftpaw over to the stairs leading up to the poop deck, where he slumped wearily.

"Good to see you in one piece, Colonel," Vera said, bringing him the tea. "We've found a few survivors from your group."

"Thank you, Vera. Have you found Mister Rosequill yet?"

"Yes, he was brought aboard a short while ago."

Colonel Swiftpaw rolled the tea cup between his paws. "Good. I've important news for him."

"I'll pass it on to him, if you like. You look positively exhausted."

"Not so young as I once was," he admitted with a small smile. "If you would, please let him and Mister Ku'rill know that Blade is dead. Atlas made sure of it, this time."

Vera turned to enter the stern cabins, "I'll do that straight away, Colonel. Anything else?"

The hare sighed and nodded. "Tell them that Atlas is dead, as well."

* * *

The sun painted the sky myriads of colors as it slowly descended into the waves that evening. The _Phantom_ and most of the Waverunner ships sat at anchor. Vera, Plink, Chak, Reedox, Rindclaw, Hylan, and Colonel Swiftpaw all lounged around the captain's cabin of the _Phantom_ , sipping hot mulled cider as they discussed the next move.

"Rob an' I were talkin' afore that 'ealer kicked me out," Chak said. "Vera, 'ate ta take away yer new toys, but we agreed we need ta get rid o' those cannons an' the black powder ingredients."

Vera pouted, but Hylan gave her a nudge as Frederick said, "I agree. Those weapons are too dangerous in the wrong paws. It's best if they lie on the ocean floor where they can hurt nobeast." The others nodded and murmured their assent to the plan.

"All right," she sighed. "I'll have my cannon crews hoist them overboard first thing in the morning."

"Speakin' o' mornin', I'm thinkin' I'll dive down ta the _Zephyr_ , if it ain't restin' too deep."

"What for?" Plink asked sourly. "Sink the cannons an' let them an' Blade rot together down there."

Chak gave her a toothy grin. "Be nice ta 'ave a little o' that treasure Blade loaded up. Lots o' beasts on this ship're gonna need ta start new lives an' a li'l gold'll make it easier fer 'em."

Vera thought back to the cave where she'd encountered Maurick and Plink and remembered the piles of treasure still left behind. When she cast a glance at Plink and found the young rat looking at her as well, she wondered if Plink were thinking the same thing. The vixen shrugged. A small pawful of gold was all she needed, really. Just enough to cover any expenses of traveling back to Birchwood. For Hylan's sake, Vera knew she'd need to stay with him for a little while.

Vera rested a paw on the pocket of her apron, feeling the two lumps there. When the time was right, she would take a trip to northeastern Mossflower.

END OF ROUND 8


	96. Epilogue: Dropping Anchor

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Epilogue: Dropping Anchor**

 _By: Robert Rosequill_

* * *

Nearly three weeks had passed since the defeat of Blade and his forces, and Salamandastron was finally beginning to grow quiet again. At first, everything had been in chaos. Lord Atlas was dead, _The Zephyr_ sunk, and beasts rushed to and fro tending to the wounded. The citizens of Hearth as well had to be kept calm as they struggled to find out what was going on and what had become of their loved ones. Colonel Swiftpaw had done his best to control the rabble, but as rumors and false information began to spread, the hare shut the gates of Salamandastron to anybeast without Waverunner colors until everything could be sorted out and an official statement could be produced. But, as the days passed, and beasts were released from the infirmaries and their active duty, and the hysteria began to die, Robert Rosequill still found himself refrained to his bed, growing more and more impatient as each new day came and passed that he still wasn't permitted to return home.

But that would change broken mess that had been his leg was gone now, and the hedgehog sat on the foot of his bed, fastening a wooden replacement to the stump that remained. In front of him, a vole healer waited patiently with a cane in his paws. He held it out to him.

"Are ya ready, Mister Rosequill?"

"I'm ready every day, doc," Robert smiled, slapping his knee and taking the cane. "An' I've a feelin' my leg'll be ready today, too."

Robert slid carefully off of the bed onto his good leg, tightly gripping the vole healer's arm for support as he shifted his weight onto the newly fastened wooden peg-leg. It wobbled underneath his weight on the cold stone floor, reminding him of when he had been just a lad trying to get his sea legs, until he steadied himself and sighed. Grunting, Robert clasped the cane in his paw and started the agonizing trial of lifting his leg.

"Now remember," began the vole, "don' put all yer weight on just the cane, you're gonna have t' put at least a little on the leg. . ."

"Aye, Merriwether, I understand," Robert grunted curtly. The hedgehog's paw shook as he tried his best to lean on the cane. He slowly began to lift his wooden leg, huffing as his arm wobbled under the pressure until finally giving out the moment the peg touched the floor and collapsing to his knee. Merriwether rushed to help him up, but Robert waved his arm.

"I ain't goin' to get any better if you keep tryin' to walk for me, doc!" Robert growled, struggling to get to his feet. Merriwether, watching the hedgehog wrestle with the floor, spoke softly.

"I'd suggest we just take a little ol' breather, an' maybe try again tomorrow. . ."

"No!" Robert shouted. "I'm tired o' 'tryin' again tomorrow.' I've been cooped up in here for far too long. I'm goin' home, today, an' I'll do it walkin' through my front door!"

Merriwether smiled sheepishly. "Aye, I see. Well, I'd still suggest that'cha rest for just a wee bit, and we'll try again in a few."

Robert shook his head, pushing himself slowly back to his feet. Gripping the cane once more, Robert slid his wooden leg across the floor, this time able to keep his bearings. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his good leg, and took a step. Smiling through clenched teeth, Robert looked back to Merriwether.

"I'd say I've got it down pat, heh heh heh."

Robert sighed with relief as he slumped into the overly cozy armchair in his sickbay room, his limbs aching from the last grueling hour of exercise. Back and forth, over and over on the cold stone floor he had walked again, learning to adjust to his newfound handicap. Though he had stumbled a few times more, it was hard for anything to keep him down for long. Eventually, Merriwether was impressed enough that he had left the hedgehog to his own devices and gone to work with other patients.

Robert rested in the chair for a few moments, looking at wooden peg that replaced his leg. It would take getting more used to, but the hedgehog was just happy he was alive, and nearly home.

 _WHUMP! WHUMP!_

Robert's heart jumped, and a smile leaped onto his face as he recognized the forceful knock on the door. "Ho, come on in, Chak me bucko!"

The sea otter strode in with Plink following closely behind, both of them in high spirits with a couple of lunch trays piled high between them. The hedgehog felt his stomach grumble with anticipation.

"Ahoy there, Rob," Chak started. "We brought ye some vittles. Figured ye'd be starvin' after yer trials with the Doc today."

"Aye, you'd be right," Robert said with a laugh. "Though I be hungry mostly all the time anyways. Takin' advantage o' the food a plenty 'round here, heh heh heh!"

Plink scurried over to place the tray on his lap. As she did, Chak eyed the new wooden leg. He hung onto the image for a moment, then tore away, forcing a grin. "Arr, Rob, I allus knew ye 'ad a bit o' pirate in ye."

Robert laughed good-naturedly. "Aye, 'bout time I looked the part o' the role I been destined to play, heh heh heh. So, enough o' me, how about me partner in crime?"

"Yar, well, tomorra the Waverunners'll be sendin' a few o' there ships back ta the island ta pick up anybeast what were left be'ind an' make sure thar ain't no more o' Blade's treasure left lyin' around fer pirates ta plunder. I figure I'll be joinin' 'em. Not that the treasure I pulled from _the Zephyr_ ain't enough. . . but thar be a lot o' beasts yet what could use some recompense. An' I mean ta make sure they get it."

"Ah. _The Phantom's_ crew?" The hedgehog eagerly lifted a tantalizing biscuit to his lips.

"Nay, the Colonel's taken good care o' them. I mean. . .more the relatives o' them what didn' make it." Chak's face had become solemn, his eyes not really looking ahead, but off to the side at some invisible beast.

Robert paused. "Chak, there were a lot o' beasts that didn't make it. We don't even know who most o' them were."

"Aye," the burly otter replied, "but we know who some o' 'em were. . ." The otter looked grim.

"Ahh," Robert felt he understood at last. "Minstrel."

Plink stopped scarfing her food abruptly.

"Aye. An' Hodgepodge, Chip, Gilly, Boddle, Gaff, Bluster, Jumpkin. . ." the otter sighed, shaking his head. "Been talkin' ta Reedox. 'E thinks thar may be a way ta track down the families. They deserve ta know what 'appened if naught else. An' I figure, they were my responsibility. It's the least I cain do." The sea otter finally met Robert's gaze and the hedgehog saw the haunted look in his eyes. After killing Daggle, there was no one left to blame for the slaves' fate but himself.

Robert smiled reassuringly. "Aye. An' I cain't think o' no better thing to do, mate. Good on ya." Chak gave Robert a curt nod. "Now," Robert said, raising his biscuit in the air to rid the room of unwanted solemnity. "Let's not let this'n wonderful food go cold on us, heh heh heh!"

The other beasts wasted no time, and tore into their meals. Not one of them was willing to live with hunger any longer. Several minutes passed, with nothing but the sounds of chewing, swallowing, and the occasional grunt of struggle with eating too fast. It was towards the end of the beasts fight with their plates that a knock on the door caught the three's attention. Robert looked up to see Colonel Swiftpaw in the doorframe.

"Well, I see you're taking a rest from all that walking earlier, wot."

"Aye, Fred! I told you ain't nothin' can keep me down for long, heh heh heh!" Robert slapped his wooden leg for emphasis, noticing Swiftpaw's face wince as he did.

"So how is that going, Robert?" he asked.

"Well, like I said, this ain't nothin' I cain't master. 'Sides," Robert paused, unable to keep a bit of pride from sneaking into his voice. "Doc checked an' says I'm well enough to leave any time I want now. I'm too stubborn to be stayin' here much longer, he says, heh heh heh."

"Really?" Swiftpaw asked, shock in his eyes. "Well, Merriwether has told me you're a hedgehog made of strong stuff. I guess it isn't too hard to believe you're leaving already. . .do you think you're well enough to meet me for debriefing later this afternoon? We still haven't heard completely what happened while on board the _Zephyr?_ "

"With all due respect, sir," Robert said, "we fought Blade and he died. There ain't much more to it than that. I'm just. . . I'm jus' ready to be leavin' now. I need to be home."

"I understand, Robert, but we still need-"

"Frederick." The hare stopped, and Robert began to stand. The pain was there in full, but Robert barely gave it notice. "In the mines, you told me we all had beasts we were fightin' for. Well, I've fought. I fought pirates, I fought Blade, I fought tears as young 'uns around me were cut down, and well. . . I think it's time I go home to mine."

For a moment, Swiftpaw's eyes looked elsewhere. The hare then nodded. He snapped to attention, and gave Robert a salute. The hedgehog smiled, and returned the gesture amicably. Swiftpaw nodded, then left without another word.

Robert, staring at the empty doorway, gripped his cane tighter.

"I'll be goin' out that door now, friends."

The evening was cool in Hearth as soft wind from the sea blew through the streets and against Robert's back, the hedgehog smiling to himself as he hobbled carefully across the familiar, smooth cobblestone pathways. Around him he could hear the squeals of children playing by their homes before being ushered inside by their mothers, blissfully unaware of the dangers that had been so close just weeks before. Behind him, Chak and Plink were close behind, looking around them at the homely atmosphere.

Robert turned a corner and looked over his shoulder back to Plink. "Not much further now," he said. True to his word, he had decided that the young rat would stay with him for as long as she needed to.

And then, Robert stopped. His smile faltered for only a moment as he gazed at the small house in front of him, as if it was just a dream. Pale smoke billowed from the stone chimney and soft candlelight flickered in the window. From inside, he could hear some young beast humming a simple but familiar melody. Plink and Chak stayed a respectful distance behind as the hedgehog stepped forward and crossed the porch, his paw raising without hesitation at the door.

Slowly he knocked.

The humming stopped and Robert waited until, finally, the door creaked and was pulled open by a small hedgehog lass.

Maribel looked up at her father, silent as her big eyes flickered over his face in confusion. Robert was quiet as well as he looked down at her, realizing that from the scars that Torin had given him and everything else he endured, he probably looked much different from when he left. But, slowly realization crept into her eyes, and as she looked down at his missing leg, tears and worry welled in her eyes.

Slowly, Robert knelt down to her level and smiled. "Don't worry, blossom. I just got into a little scrape, but it's alright. . ." He pulled his daughter tight and close, tears spilling down his cheek. "I'm home now."

"Papa. . ." Maribel choked out behind tears, as her paws curled around his waist.

There were footsteps around the corner, and Robert looked up to see his wife Violet step into view, her head down as she absentmindedly wiped her paws on her apron. "Maribel, what have I said about answering the. . ." she started to say, but stopped as she raised her head and looked at the beast in the doorframe.

Robert wasted no time. Scooping up Maribel into the crook of his arm, he half-bounded, half-stumbled forward towards his wife, wrapping his other arm around her waist. There were already tears in her eyes as Violet returned the embrace, choking out words between sobs.

"You're back."

"Aye. Don't tell me I'm late for supper, am I?"

Violet wiped a paw across her face and shook her head, her gaze drifting from his scars down to his leg. "You said that you'd be careful. What happened?"

"I'll tell ya later, darling. It ain't important right now," Robert said.

The hedgehog pulled away from his wife after a few more seconds, looking down briefly to her midsection. She was due any day, he realized. He hadn't missed it.

As the tears began to fade, replaced by smiles, realization hit Robert and he quickly looked over his shoulder to where Chak and Plink stood sheepishly in the doorframe. The hedgehog gave them a smile and stepped back towards them. "Right, sorry, mates. Got a little carried away, heh heh heh. I suppose I should be introducin' you all. Right, this Violet, is me good friend Chak Ku'rill," he said, leading her towards the sea otter. "Me and him have been through a whole lot together, haven't we, heh?"

"A pleasure to meet you, Chak," Violet said softly, shaking his paw.

"Err, right. Same here, err. . . marm," Chak replied, unsure how to respond.

"And this, is Plink," Robert said. "Plink here. . . well, me and her have been through a lot too. And if it weren't for her, well. . ." he stopped at that thought, collecting himself before going on. "Well, she ain't got nowhere else t' go, so she'll be stayin' here with us for a little while, okay?"

If Violet had any complaints, she certainly didn't show them. "Of course, of course. Fates, she looks almost half-starved." Kneeling down carefully to Plink's level she smiled her most motherly smile and extended her paw. "Why don't you take those boots off and come in, Plink? Supper's almost ready."

Plink gazed up at the hogwife tentatively before taking the paw and allowing herself to be led inside.

Maribel tugged at her father's sleeve. "Papa, papa!"

"Aye, what is it, lass?" he asked.

"You gotta hear my song!" she squealed, beaming from ear to ear.

"Oh, heavens," Violet said. "You should have seen her. She's been practicing every day like you told her to. "

"Oh has she?" Robert said with a smile. He turned back towards his daughter and beckoned for her to go on. "Don't worry. I ain't goin' anywhere this time. I'm right here. Let's hear it. As loud as you can, blossom."

Urged on by her mother and father, Maribel took a breath and then began to sing.

 _"My papa's goin' sailin' again,  
He'll be home someday, but I don't know when.  
He says not tomorrow, and not the next day  
But I know it can't be that far away_

 _Mama's sad to see him go_  
 _Cryin' for reasons I don't know_  
 _'Cause Papa's left us before_  
 _And soon he'll be at our door_

 _He always is_  
 _And with that big smile of his_  
 _Ready to hug Mama and me_  
 _That's the way it's supposed to be_

 _So I'll be sad for now, but that won't last_  
 _And I'll sing this song, to make the time pass_  
 _'Cause I know Papa's comin' home to me_  
 _I know it's where he wants to be."_

* * *

 **Three Weeks Later**

The sun was close to setting over the horizon. Its rays reached out across the deep colored seas, bringing warmth to the old sailor's face. The hedgehog let out a sigh, bringing a comfortably familiar flask of ale to his lips.

Across from him, his good friend Harold sat, sipping at his own flask in total quiet as they both gazed out at the calm sea. After a few moments, the hare turned his head towards him and broke the silence, "So I heard you turned in your papers yesterday."

Robert nodded, lowering his flask. "Aye, an' it was certainly overdue I'd say." He noticed the hare's look of surprise, and the hedgehog's mouth curved into a half smile. "An' it's for the bes', too. I should o' quit back then right along with you, heh heh heh."

Harold returned a half smile of his own. "Aye, you should, but you never did listen to me, did you?"

"No, an' don' you get used to it neither," Robert chuckled, with Harold laughing right along.

"It's funny though, I didn't expect you to actually go through with it this time, mate. I mean, everybeast has heard what happened out there, and if it weren't for you and those other beasts, who knows what woulda happened? You and those other beasts are right old heroes. Swiftpaw's even lettin' you keep that medal, after all. And if you don't want t' be a warrior, well you could always jus' be a navigator again. Ain't that still the right job for an ol' softy like you?" Harold's smile was widening, but Robert didn't return it this time.

"Aye, it'd be nice," the hedgehog said. "But I cain't cut it out there no more. What Blade did. . . I lost my leg, but otherbeasts lost their lives. Younger beasts, with seasons still ahead of 'em. I just. . . I just can't do it anymore. But, that's alright. There are a lot o' brave beasts in the Waverunners and some young beast'll come around and be 'the navigator' to those beasts, just like I was, and show them the way." After a pause, he looked up to the sun once more. Robert brought the flask to his lips, letting it rest on his tongue. He didn't take a sip this time.

"So what're your plans now, mate?" Harold asked. Robert grunted, and slipped the flask back into his coat.

"Well, I may be quittin' the Waverunners, but I sure as Hellgates ain't quittin' the sea," Robert replied. "Jus' cain't do that, much like I cain't just quit eatin' or breathin'."

"Aye, couldn't say it better myself, wot!" Harold said.

"Aye. With all the pay I got, I'll be able to by meself a nice lil' fishin' boat, become a fisherman like that crazy ol' Uncle Boris o' mine."

"I don't think I've ever heard of an Uncle. . . Boris?" Harold questioned, brow raised.

"Aye, an' that ain't no accident neither," Robert chuckled, "but the beast knew how to fish if anythin', an' I learned a lot from him. It'd be a nice change for me I think. I can teach me kids how, an' hopefully they'll love it."

"Oh, right, kids now!" Harold said, beaming for the first time that night. "An' how are they? More importantly the lil' one, wot?"

"Bel is still jus' the sweetest lil babe, but the little'un's givin' her some competition, heh heh heh."

"Oh, I'll bet wot. What is the new ball o' fun's name?" Harold asked.

"Berta," Robert replied through a silly grin, his voice fit to burst with emotion.

"Aye, that be a fine name for a fine young maid," Harold said. Robert nodded absentmindedly, looking out onto the sea once more. The sun had just touched the horizon, splashing its rays across the surface. Robert grunted a bit, grabbing the cane leaning against the railing as he steadied himself to stand.

"Well mate," Robert said, "It's gettin' past sunset. I think that's the sign that we ought to be headin' back. Plink, lass! Grab those riggin's, it's time we go home!" The hedgehog heard an excited "Aye!" from above as the young ratmaid hurried to follow the order. Smiling, he started to make his way to the helm, the wooden peg leg tapping against the deck with each of his steps. Harold, a bit puzzled, followed behind.

"So soon, Rob? I figured you'd be wantin' to spend some time out on the water under the stars. You always loved seein' that, an' since this is your ship now. . ."

"Aye, you ain't wrong, Harold, it'd be a nice sight to see," Robert cut him off. "But Violet's just about to start supper, an' after everythin' I've been through, I cain't be late for that, no sir."

The half-smile returned to the hare's face, and he nodded. "Aye then, mate. Let's get on back to port then. Can't keep her waiting."

"Nah, mate. Never again, heh heh heh."

Plink had unfurled the sails, eagerly catching the evening winds to push the small vessel through the waves. Robert reached the helm, but just before grasping the wheel, he took a moment. He felt the sea breeze blowing through the spikes on his back. The old hedgehog closed his eyes, letting the air flow past his face. He took a deep breath, the ocean smells greeting him like an old friend as he looked back in the direction of Hearth. Smiling, the hedgehog grasped the wheel of the ship, and began to sail home.


	97. Epilogue: The Calm Before The Storm

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Epilogue: The Calm Before the Storm**

 _By: Airan (Admin)_

* * *

Soft light poured through the single, tall window of Lord Atlas' chambers, illuminating pale dust motes that had been stirred into the air by the recent activity within the room. Frederick Swiftpaw, newly-appointed Admiral of the Waverunners- glanced up from the pile of papers at the late badgerlord's desk, watching as a pawful of Waverunners fumbled through different chests and drawers and sorted through the items inside. As had become tradition of the badgerlords and ladies of recent seasons, when they were buried it would be with their most important possessions. While burying Atlas would be an impossibility without his body, the tradition still stood and all manner of soldiers began the search through his belongings for whatever seemed worthy of the honor. As Atlas' right paw and closest friend, it was Frederick who found himself the primary target of questions about practically each and every trinket the badger had.

"Admiral Swiftpaw, sir," a hedgehog said, examining something in his paws. "what about this bracelet here? Looks a little small for Lord Atlas though."

"I think that's a ring, mate," somebeast corrected him.

"Fates, a ring? Thing almost fits around my wrist!"

"Is there anything inscribed on it?" Frederick inquired curiously, taking his time to straighten out the paperwork on the desk.

"Aye, sir," the hedgehog answered him, squinting his eyes as he looked back to the ring. "Err... Ia... Iap...?"

Frederick's ears perked at the sound of the word the Waverunner was trying to say. "Iapetus?" he finished for him. "Does it say Iapetus?"

"Aye, I believe so, yessir."

Frederick nodded. "Right. I do believe that would be a good choice then. It was a keepsake that belonged to his father, wot. I'm sure Lord Atlas would have brought it with him had he known that he wouldn't... that he wouldn't return." The hare grimaced and chose to stop there.

"Err... I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to upset'cha. Bein' honest, I don't think any of us were really expectin' it. Though, maybe 'twas is his time. He was a right old monster, right t' the bitter end."

"Aye," was all Frederick said in response before turning back to the work in front of him. Though his new responsibilities from his promotion were keeping him rightfully busy, there was a pit in the hare's stomach that couldn't seem to be filled when it came to the late badgerlord. It was a month since his death, and though he recited the tale of how Atlas died in his arms, having conquered the Bloodwrath and wanting nothing more than peace, it was clear that not everybeast within the mountain believed him. To those that weren't there, he died the same way he lived: as a monster, and who could possibly mourn such a beast?

Frederick once more set aside his work, opening the rightmost drawer of his desk and searching through it until he found what he was looking for: a dagger with a bright golden hilt, with the name of the pirate king carved onto the blade. For a moment, the hare considered giving it to the other Waverunners to be buried, but decided against it, quickly putting it back into the drawer and shutting it. Though nobeast else believed it, Atlas died as himself, and he wouldn't allow himself to tarnish his memory with what Blade or the Bloodwrath did to him.

Frederick's ears twitched as the door of the room opened and Killian Wrightbones strode in, carrying a short stack of papers in his arms. Instantly upon returning to Salamandastron, the hare was told that he was being demoted back to his original rank of lieutenant, due to not being a proper example for other soldiers and for Atlas not being in the right mind when he was promoted, and he now wore a nearly permanent scowl and narrowed gaze on his features. However, if anything, all it did was drive him to try and redeem himself, dedicating most of his time to taking charge of keeping Hearth under control during the initial hysterics in an attempt to garner some of his lost favor with his superior. It was impressive, and, while Frederick had no intention of revoking his decision just yet, he resolved himself to at least keep his eye on the lieutenant.

"Some more of them for you, sah," Killian said as he stepped forward and set the stack of papers on Frederick's desk.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Wrightbones," Frederick said with a nod, taking the stack and beginning to skim through them. Ritter Greytips, Dusker Tetch, Morti Dulshed. All the respective names and dismissal forms for beasts who, whether because of injury, end of service, or just simply personal reasons, decided to leave the Waverunners and merely waited his signature of approval. A name caught his eye and Frederick raised his brow.

Robert Rosequill.

Frederick sat down the page and retrieved his quill, dabbing it lightly in an inkwell before signing his name at the bottom.

"Just like that then," Killian said quizzically. "Not even gonna bally think about it, wot?"

"I don't need to," Frederick answered. "Robert was invaluable, aye. Without him, I'm sure many of us would have lost hope in the sulfur mines."

"Aye," Killian mumbled, glancing towards the floor.

"But he led us through that, and we prevailed. I could refuse to sign this and keep him in service, but I won't. He's a warrior, but he belongs with his family." Frederick sighed and sat the document to the side before looking back to the other hare. "And we belong out here."

"Aye, sah," the lieutenant said with a nod.

"Now then, was there anything else you had for me?"

"Err, yes, actually," Killian said. "Colonel Hagglethrump's lad, Cyril, told me that the prisoners are beginning to get anxious. They're startin' t' become a pawful, he said, wot."

Frederick groaned, running his paw through his headfur in embarrassment. "Hellgates, how did something like that slip my bally mind for this long?"

"Sah, I'm sure everybeast understands," Killian reassured the admiral. "You've just been busy is all. What with Atlas' death, Hearth, and those blasted pirates, I'd say you've had your paws full."

The hare nodded and got up from his chair. "Aye, well I'd best get to that now then. If you would, Killian, tell Cyril to get some soldiers to organize them and to have them brought somewhere where they can fit. The mess hall should be big enough."

"Right, yes sah," Killian said, saluting smartly. "Though, if don't mind my asking, what do you plan on doing with the blighters?"

Frederick paused, recollecting the weight of a heavy paw on his shoulder. Slowly he looked back to Killian. "The same thing Atlas would."

* * *

As Frederick asked, the prisoners that were captured during the assault on Blade's fleet were properly rounded up and released from their cells, where they were made to march directly to Salamandastron's mess hall. The other Waverunners had long since finished their breakfast and cleared out of the room, opening it to the procession of vermin as they replaced the soldiers' spots at the long tables and were told to wait. Frederick stood at the far end of the room on a small stage that was set up for him, watching as some four-hundred assembled vermin rubbed at sore wrists and murmured anxiously among themselves. Nervous eyes drifted to the guards standing at attention along the wall and to the sword hilts they clutched at their waists.

"I told ya they was gonna kill us, mate," Frederick heard somebeast say with a sob.

"Ah, shut it, ya idjit. If they were gonna slay us, they woulda done it already," his friend retorted.

"But they got swords, mate. They'll kill us all quiet like..."

Murmurs began to stir among the crowd. Before any hysterics could begin, Frederick motioned for the Waverunner guards to have their arms fall slack to their sides. The voices began to cease as the hare turned his attention back to the crowd.

He cleared his throat.

"Right," Frederick began, speaking loud enough that his voice carried throughout the whole room. "My name is Frederick Swiftpaw. As instructed by Lord Atlas Stormstripe following his death, I have been given the title of Grand Admiral of the Waverunners, which is basically just a fancy way of saying that I'm the captain here, wot. I'm sure you are all wondering why I had you brought here today. To put it bluntly, you are all prisoners of the Waverunners and need to be dealt with."

The words had their desired effect and several beasts' gazes fell.

"But to put it even simpler," Frederick continued. "I have no intention of taking any of your lives, nor keeping you imprisoned any longer."

The beasts raised their gazes once more and hopeful looks spread through the crowd as excited chattering began to fill the room.

"Right, hush up, you lot! Admiral Swiftpaw wasn't done speaking yet," Killian shouted, shushing the prisoners instantly.

"Thank you, lieutenant," Frederick said with a nod to the other hare before clearing his throat once more. "When the rumors of Captain Blade's lost treasure began, beasts of all over were drawn in by the sounds of it, even our own badgerlord. And when they arrived at that island, nearly everybeast, whether they were common sailor, treasure hunter, or pirate, suffered the same fate: Blade standing over them with a mace in his paws, or cannons ready to fire, and telling them that they could either join his new pirate empire or die. And it's very hard to say no when your life is on the line.

"With that said, I'm sure there are beasts sitting here today who followed Blade willingly and truly wanted him to succeed, but there are also just as many who wanted nothing to do with it and merely were trying to save their lives. I could question you all and find out who those are, but I don't want to, and, despite the absolute heinous acts that some of you have likely done to innocent beasts, I am willing to look the other way just this once and give you all the benefit of the doubt. As far as I'm concerned, nobeast in this room is a pirate, but just a common sailor, wrapped up in the dreams of wealth and opportunity. So, I have decided you will all be given your freedom."

Cheers rang out from the crowd, but quickly ceased as a ferret stepped out from the crowd.

"Aye, and where do you expect us t' go, huh?" the beast yelled.

"Oy, you there, how about you shut your trap while the admiral is trying to bally speak, wot?" Killian's voice rang out in response.

"That's enough, Killian," Frederick admonished. He turned back to the ferret in question before beckoning for him to continue.

The beast narrowed his gaze at Killian before opening his mouth to speak once more, "When Cap'n Blade was alive, he gave us someplace t' belong. Made us feel like we mattered, or at least could if'n we tried hard enough. And then when 'e died - ya know, the first time - what happened? You beasts hunted us down and broke us apart, until we were killin' each other we were so desperate! When I found out he was still alive, I'll be honest and say I was the first t' say yes t' his offer. Kill me if ya want, but I would have followed that beast t' Hellgates. And then he... Then he died again. So, what d' ya think's gonna happen?"

"Aye," Frederick replied with a nod. "Well, I was hoping that I might be able to convince you all to choose not to return to piracy."

"Only a madbeast chooses piracy," the ferret answered him. "If there was a better option, I'd take it, but this world's practically ruled by you woodlander lot, and I wouldn't be able t' take two steps into one o' yer villages without bein' thrown out. Piracy's all I've got."

"I understand, the world isn't kind to you," Frederick said. "But as I said, I don't want you to return to piracy. So, it's fortunate that I do have a better option."

"What? What do you mean?" the ferret answered in confusion.

"Aye, admiral... what do you mean?" Killian asked.

Once more, the eyes of everybeast were drawn to the hare as he cleared his throat. Even the Waverunner guards gave him their full attention. He looked to the windows on the southern wall of the room and motioned for the others to do the same. On the horizon, a few miles from the mountain stronghold, were the different buildings and homes that made up the port of Hearth, pale smoke spurting from their chimneys like a beacon. "That is the port of Hearth. Maybe you've seen it before. Atlas had it built ten seasons ago as a place where merchants, sailors, and all manner of other good, honest beasts could work and settle with their families and friends in peace and safety. It's a place of opportunity where anybeast can succeed if they work hard enough and a place of refuge... for those that have nowhere else to go."

"Admiral, you're suggesting that-"

"Yes, starting today, so long as they abide by the same rules and laws as the other good beasts already living there, vermin are fully welcome in Hearth," Frederick started, looking over the crowd once more. "I've only discussed this previously with a few others, mostly the older generals and other higher-ups, but I've generally been met with complete support, wot. When Lord Atlas was dying, he told me it was time we welcome vermin with open arms. With his fate sealed, maybe he was trying to make amends for what he had done. But, regardless of his intentions, I agree. I think it's time we tried to end this age-old conflict... for the good of everybeast, vermin and woodlander."

The silence that followed was palpable. Both pirates and Waverunners glanced towards one another in distrust. Beasts whispered to one another, but Frederick could only catch a few snippets of their conversations.

"The hare's a blasted liar."

"That badger would never..."

"We'll be ran out..."

"Or killed, mate."

Finally, the ferret, designating himself as the official voice of the rabble, spoke up. "Did Atlas really say that? 'Cause after what he did, we all have a rather hard time believin' it."

"Yes," Frederick replied. "I was with him when he died, wot."

"Was anybeast else?"

"No," he answered. "But regardless of whether or not you believe me about what he said, I'm saying it now. You wanted a better option, a place to belong. I'm going to give you that chance, but that is exactly what it will be: a chance. Hearth will likely need to be expanded if it's to fit you, so if you wish to have a home, you will be expected to help build it. Likewise, if you want to eat, then you will be expected to work - I won't tolerate any layabouts sapping our stores or taking advantage of honest beast's generosity. Hearth is a place of opportunity, but it's up to you to pursue it.

"So prove yourselves. It will be hard, I know. Not everybeast will accept you at first either, but I'm sure so long as you work hard and don't return to your old ways, with time, they will. And if you work hard to change, then so can we."

The ferret looked away and nodded. It was clear he had nothing left to say, and Frederick wondered whether he was actually convinced.

Not pressing the matter further, Frederick addressed the crowd once more, "For those of you with a place to return to, you are free to go if you wish. We will give you all three days worth of rations and a map so that you may find your way back. If where you're from is across the sea, then we shall try to make arrangements so that you may return home as soon as possible," he said. "But, know this. We of the Waverunners have dedicated ourselves to protecting the beasts of the western shores from those pirates and brigands who would threaten them, so, if you choose to return to your old murderous ways, know that eventually we will bring you the justice that you deserve. Don't let this second chance go to waste.

"And to the rest of you, the offer still stands. Hearth is open to you. Whether your life there is prosperous or not, is simply up to you. "

As the mass of vermin erupted into chatter amongst themselves about their decisions, Frederick heard Killian whisper in his ear. "Sah, are you sure this is a good idea, wot?"

He shook his head. "No, but it's better than turning them away, or showing them hatred," he said. "I'm tired of this fighting, lieutenant. I'm tired of watching beasts die, regardless of who they are. I can't just sit by and do nothing."

"There's always going to be another fight, admiral."

"Aye. But does it have to be between ourselves? Can we not face it together? At least this way, maybe I can show them what peace truly is before the war begins."

"Aye, I understand," Killian said as the two hares looked over the beasts once more. Hopeful smiles were plastered on the vermins' faces. "And I think they bally-well do too. I think you dealt with them pretty well. Maybe this can actually work."

"We can only try," Frederick said with a smile.

* * *

It was past noon when Frederick had seen to it that the prisoners were all given a proper meal and sorted into their respective groups. Those that wished to leave had gone with Lieutenant Wrightbones as he sorted out their rations and supplies and helped to point them in the right direction, while the vermin choosing to stay in Hearth, numbering nearly three-hundred, were found living quarters within the mountain until architects could be commissioned to help with the planned expansion of the port. Volunteers to help with the project already began to line up, including some of the more optimistic vermin.

With things looking to be progressing well without him, the admiral excused himself and moved on to his next duty for the day. Though the captured pirates were all released, there was still one prisoner who hadn't and still needed to be dealt with.

Frederick's paws were clasped smartly behind his back as he walked slowly through the now-empty cells of Salamandastron. Accompanying him was Cyril, the bright son of one of his old mentors, Colonel Ambrose Hagglethrump. Top of the class in the Waverunner's military academy, Cyril's exploits in knowledge and swordplay reached Frederick's ears on frequent occasion from his teachers, and it was no surprise to him that the young hare had volunteered himself as the head overseer for the prisoners that were taken during the battle.

With so many beasts to deal with, Frederick knew that it would be a suitable distraction for the young hare, whose family had become overcome with grief after hearing the news of what happened while on the island. Upon returning to Salamandastron, the admiral learned quickly that _The Zephyr's_ cabin boy, Scully, was actually Colonel Hagglethrump's youngest, and apparently distraught son, Gordon, who had forged documents to sneak aboard and run away, only to be presumably killed by pirates.

Frederick turned towards Cyril, who stared forward distantly as they walked. "I'm sorry. If I had known who Gordon was, I would have had _The Zephyr_ turned around. I can't imagine what it's like to lose family so young. How is your family faring?"

"Mother is taking it the hardest, of course," Cyril answered. "She always did love Gordon. My tutor, Brother Sage, is trying his best to help her cope, but she's been stuck at her easel painting pictures of him, over and over. She's convinced that she's not painting him right, that she's already forgotten what he looks like and she doesn't want to stop until she does. It's a sad sight. Father has been busying himself with funeral preparations."

"And yourself?"

"Me and Gordon were never truly close as siblings, but he was still my brother. It pains me to think he's gone, but my fiancé, Mary, is helping me stay strong for Mother." The younger hare paused for a moment as they turned the corner of the hall towards a section of cells that were isolated from the rest. "I suppose what matters though, is that, in the end, that monster got what he deserved."

Frederick nodded in agreement.

The two hares stopped at the iron plated door of the isolation cell at the very end of the hall, two guards standing at attention beside it with spears in their paws. Cyril made a quick motion with his paws, and one of them reached for the keys on his waist, turning to the door and going to unlock it.

With a click of a latch, the bolt on the door was undone. The guards removed the key and pushed open the heavy door, waiting for the admiral to enter before following after him inside. Never really intended for any long stays, the isolation cell was in itself just a simple rectangular room only slightly larger than one of Salamandastron's broom closets and lacked any real commodities asides from a single cot in the corner of the room, a chair, and a tin bucket. On the far wall, sunlight lit the room naturally from a single, barred window, pale sunbeams casting dark shadows across the rough edges of the stone walls.

Sitting at the edge of her cot, the pirate captain Ciera Ancora gazed out of the window at the sea below. She glanced briefly at the group of Waverunners as they entered, her dark eyes moving between them until they stopped on Frederick and the stripes on his uniform.

"Is it time for my execution?" the ferret asked him dryly before turning back to the window.

Frederick gave the guards a dismissive nod and they saluted before retreating out of the room. Cyril, however, stayed his ground.

"With respect, sah, if what's been said is true, then this pirate was with my brother before he died, and she is also my charge," the young soldier said. "I believe I have every right to hear what she has to say, as well as help in deciding her fate."

Frederick cocked an eyebrow at the young soldier's impudence and opened his mouth to argue but quickly thought better of it. Despite his wishes of being alone with the prisoner, Cyril was right. He deserved to know what happened to his brother and what involvement she might have had with it. "Very well, corporal, but know that I've already made my choice regarding Captain Ancora's fate, and, regardless of what your feelings are, I trust you will not argue with me about that decision. Do you understand?"

Cyril narrowed his gaze and glared darkly at the pirate in front of him, clear to the admiral that he didn't agree and already had in his head his own idea of what should be done, but, after a few moments, he hesitantly nodded. "Yes, sah, I understand," he said before taking a backwards step behind the admiral.

Frederick nodded and stepped forward, grabbing the chair and pulling it closer to him before taking a seat.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I trust you've been treated well."

Ciera's eyes didn't leave the cell window. "It's a good view here. Ocean as far as I can see, just beyond these bars." Her head tilted just enough to have a dark eye focus on him. "Fitting, really."

Frederick cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes it is." He paused, watching the pirate captain for a moment before straightening himself up with an admiral's bearing. "Right, my name is Frederick Swiftpaw. I believe we've met before while we were on the island but this is hardly about that, wot. On behalf of my fellow Waverunners and the beasts of Hearth, I'd like to personally thank you for what you did. Had it not been for your warning, I doubt the other Waverunners would have been prepared for Captain Blade's attack and many innocent beasts would have been enslaved or slain. You saved many lives, from both Hearth and Salamandastron, and, for that, you have my thanks."

The pirate shook her head, chuckling dryly. "You Waverunners are all the same. A pawful of goodbeasts saved, and consequences be damned."

Frederick raised a brow in confusion. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

She turned around, eyes fierce upon him. "Do you think I'm proud of this? You've been thinning our ranks for the last ten seasons, and I offered the Waverunners the last remnant of piracy on a silver platter. How much blood is on my paws because of this?"

Frederick regarded her first curiously, then his expression turned perplexed. A question that lingered in the back of his mind for many days returned to him. "Why do it then?"

Ciera held his gaze for several moments, then, with a sigh, she looked back at the window. "When I became a pirate, it was as a runaway and The Phantom was the ship that I found myself on. Everybeast on board told stories of their pasts, how they were stricken with poverty, or ran out of villages, and how piracy became their last resort, their only safe haven. Before he went by that name, Captain Blade, though, was different. Unlike every other beast, he was the only one who chose to be a pirate, and as I learned to fight, he approached me and asked me just a simple question: do you want to change the world with me?

"He envisioned a world where the wretches could have a purpose, where vermin could be safe, and we could all live united under a single flag. He carried himself with such confidence and passion, that it was impossible not to agree, and so for seasons we created the legend of Captain Blade until it became truth. You ask me why I did it? It's because when he took that name, I realized everything he said was a lie. Terramort fell, and he let Atlas pick us off one by one while he hid like a bloody coward. He never cared about vermin. I did though... And I wasn't going to let him lead them to destruction. If betraying vermin was the only way I could save them, then so be it."

"I see," Frederick said with a somber nod. "Turning your back on your fellow beasts must not have been easy, wot. There were of course deaths - such is the way of battle - and some ships fled before we had the chance to catch them, but the vessels we boarded, anybeast who threw down their arms was spared. In fact, I just released them this morning with an offer."

"An offer?" she spoke the word as if it was the tired punchline to a well-worn joke.

"It was Atlas' wish that vermin become welcome in Hearth, so I've done just that and opened the gates for them. There's already a good sum of them who have decided that they'll stay. We'll be expanding the town in the next season to make room, but from here on, vermin have a place that they can call home, without having to return to piracy," the hare said.

The ferret was quiet. Then, softly, she offered, "That's impossible."

"I swear it on my honor, it's true."

"He was mad. After everybeast he slaughtered, he can't have suddenly become such a paragon of compassion."

"He couldn't control himself. He wanted peace just like any other beast," Frederick argued.

"Yes, and that peace would come when all of us vermin were dead! That's what he told me," Ciera spat. There was silence at the prisoner's outburst and she collected herself before looking back to the hare. "It won't work, I hope you know that. They'd burn down that port for a single gold coin. Those beasts are set in their ways, they'll never change."

"Maybe not, but I fought with several vermin who were admirable, brave, and honest in this last battle against Blade and that alone makes me at least willing to give them the chance," Frederick answered. "Everybeast deserves a place to belong."

Ciera only nodded in response, clear to the admiral that she didn't completely agree. A few moments passed as the ferret thought over it all, before she looked back to him. "You don't know the last thing about vermin."

"Then teach me. I'm willing to learn."

Ciera drummed her fingers against the edge of her cot, expression inscrutable. Then, she folded her arms together. "You want my advice? Those beasts have only ever known the sword-they don't know a hoe from a spear, and don't even think about handing one a hammer. You're taking away the only way of life they've ever known." She leaned forward. "But that's fine. Let the seasons pass. Let them have wives, husbands, children-teach them to act like you do. Then, when the time's right, and when they realize they have something worth fighting for, give them the sword back. Let them join the Waverunners.

"These are beasts who don't know how to live honestly. But they know how to sail and they know how to fight. So, let them, but give them something to fight for. Because, when the time comes, you're going to want as many of them on your side as you possibly can."

Frederick nodded, then his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean 'when the time comes?"

"Blade will return."

Frederick's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Captain Blade is dead. I saw Atlas slay him, wot."

Ciera nodded. "That may be, but that doesn't mean he can't come back."

"I don't understand."

Ciera sighed. "You beasts don't know anything about Blade, do you? He wasn't just some beast who appeared one day and called himself the pirate king. No, that's not how piracy works. If he wanted to be king, he needed everybeast to fear his name-

"So he made himself into a legend." Both beasts looked towards Cyril, who had been silent until then. The other hare crossed his arms and continued. "I'd imagine that for a captain like Blade, getting respect from his own crew would be simple enough, but spreading that renown across the sea so that every pirate knew him would be much more difficult with how divided everybeast was. But, of course, everybeast loves a good story, and I'm sure Blade knew exactly what to say to make sure that his story would forever be told. That's how piracy works, right? Myths. Legends. Rumors. Without them, how else would he have even drawn Lord Atlas or you, Captain Ancora, to the island in the first place? No, Blade certainly knew how powerful words were and the effects they can have on a beast. I'm sure there are pirates already spreading stories about the battle and his death as we speak. But, of course, with Blade's reputation, those stories may very well become exaggerated. To them, he could have died in a blaze of glory or even managed to have survived. Whatever makes the more interesting story."

Ciera regarded him with a curious gaze. "What's your name?"

"Cyril Hagglethrump," the hare said flatly.

The corner of Ciera's mouth twitched. "Cyril," she spoke slowly, as if rolling the name over her tongue to get a feel for it. "That's interesting."

Frederick's mouth twisted into a slight smile of pride and he nodded. "Cyril here was the top of his class in our academy. He's always had a good head on his shoulders, wot. I hear he's getting married soon, too."

The other hare only nodded in response.

"I wasn't aware that piracy was a school subject," Ciera replied.

"I study independently when I'm able," Cyril answered her. "And I have a tutor who's schooled me in certain subjects."

"Most beasts don't choose to study piracy," Ciera said, her gaze narrowing slightly as she regarded the hare quizzically. Cyril's mouth twisted into a scowl in response.

"Right," Frederick said, wanting to get them back on topic. "But what does this have to do with Blade returning?"

Ciera looked at Cyril for another moment before turning to the admiral. "Blade has always been more of a legend than an actual beast. Not very many pirates in his empire, asides from his captains and his own crew, actually knew who he was, and we were all instructed very carefully to not let it be known. To the common pirate, Blade was just a name, and, just like any other faceless beast, they would come up with their own narratives for who and what he was," the ferret explained. "To foxes, he became a fox. To rats, a rat. And so on. Not many beasts knew he was actually a ferret and to those that did... well, if I've learned anything about other vermin, it's that they're stupid and I'm sure they'll forget. Like any legend, all it takes is a slight twist in that narrative and everything about Blade can change. Your friend here mentioned that Blade could still be alive, even though he was slain. He's right. Those pirates don't know of his fate. You could show them a body, but I doubt they'd actually accept it. They'll create their own stories just as they always have.

"And there lies the problem. Blade's dead, but he's already shown that he can survive some impossible odds, and some might hold onto that hope that he's managed to do it again. And if Blade is 'alive' then it'll only be so long until some smart beast rises to power and claims to be Captain Blade himself, which is very, very dangerous, especially if what I've heard is true and Atlas was slain as well. With that madbeast gone, any fear we pirates had is gone with him," Ciera continued. "You've made a lot of enemies, admiral, just as I'm sure I have as well, and there are beasts out there who will want revenge for this defeat. There's a storm approaching and I hope you'll be prepared for it, because Blade is still alive in the heads and hearts of every pirate out there, and, when he returns, it can be as anybeast."

"Even a woodlander?" Cyril asked, tone tinged with curiosity.

Ciera studied the hare for a moment. "In theory."

"I see," Frederick said, clutching his chin in thought. "Thank you, again, for the warning. But, you don't need to worry. We Waverunners are no stranger to a good storm. We'll weather it just as we always have."

Ciera leaned back, tapping out an uneven rhythm against her forearm. "It's admirable, you know. What you're trying to do here for vermin. It won't work, but... it'd be a shame if it failed before you could even try." The ferret hesitated for another moment, gazing once more out the barred window of her cell as a butterfly landed on the sill. It was there for only a second before flying away, and Ciera turned back towards the admiral. "You never answered my question. Is it time for my execution?"

Frederick felt Cyril's hard gaze on the back of his neck, but ignored it. As much as he understood the young hare's desire for vengeance, it wasn't his decision to make, nor would he let it be. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered it, wot. Unlike those other beasts I released this morning, I know of your reputation, Captain Ancora, and the crimes you've committed for yourself and for Blade. I'm sure it would bring relief to many innocent beasts to know that you've finally been brought to justice, but due to your actions to stop Blade and save Hearth, I can't, in good conscience, take your life."

"And my freedom?"

"I've released every other prisoner we've taken," Frederick stated bluntly. "You're not an exception."

"Sah, that's preposterous!" Cyril finally objected. "Think of what she's done!"

"I'm well aware of what she's done, corporal!" Frederick snapped with a look back to the younger hare. "I understand how you feel, Cyril. I do. I know what it's like to lose someone that... that you love, but, this is my decision, and it's final. Ciera Ancora will go free."

Cyril muttered something under his breath and rolled his eyes.

"If you have something to say to me, say it."

"I said you're a bloody fool," Cyril answered, meeting the admiral's narrowed gaze.

"Right. Well, that's something you and I can discuss later. But, as I understood it, you agreed that you wouldn't argue with my decision, so unless you want to spend the next few weeks cooling your paws in the guardhouse for insubordination and disrespecting a superior officer, I'd suggest that you silence yourself this instant, and remember why you are here. Otherwise, you can leave. Am I clear?" Frederick warned.

"Of course, sah," Cyril muttered.

"Then speak your peace."

Cyril turned his gaze away from Frederick and back towards Ciera. The hare's eyes darkened as he glowered at the pirate. "Tell me what happened to him. Gordon."

The ferret raised a brow. "I don't know a Gordon."

"He was one of our cabin boys on _The Zephyr_ and went by the name Scully Craws," Frederick explained. "It's only after we returned to Salamandastron that we learned most of his documentation was forged or simply made up. He was one of our retiring officer's sons and unfortunately, no beast on board was aware of this fact when we left port."

"I see," Ciera said, hesitating for a moment to collect her thoughts before looking back towards Cyril, and darkening her gaze. "I didn't kill Scully, if that's what you think. Blade killed him. Scully practically worshipped Blade, and wanted to be a pirate, just like him. He was naive and stupid, but I gave him what he wanted. When we made it to the Dead Rock, Blade saw that trust and used it to his advantage. Scully told him everything he needed to know about Salamandastron, and when he wasn't useful anymore, Blade stabbed him in the back. Know that. Scully saw Blade as a hero, and he killed him without a second thought. I don't know what stories you've heard, Cyril, but know that Blade was no hero, regardless of what he wanted to do for us vermin. If it benefitted him, even only slightly, he wouldn't have hesitated to watch all of us die."

Cyril was quiet at the ferret's retort, glaring daggers at her.

"Thank you, Captain Ancora," Frederick said gruffly as he stood up from his chair. "Is there anything else you want to know, Cyril?"

"No, sah. I think I've heard enough," the hare answered flatly.

"Very well, if you'll follow me, Ciera, I'll take you to your ship," Frederick said to the ferret before knocking on the cell door to be let out. "You can return to your duties, Cyril. As for your outburst, you and you're family are going through a dark time, so I'll forgive you for that reason, but I expect it will not ever happen again. As I said, I know what it's like to lose a loved one."

As the guards opened the cell door, Cyril turned his head back towards the admiral.

"Like Atlas?"

Frederick paused. "Yes. Like Atlas."

Without another word, Frederick and Ciera departed from the cell, Cyril's gaze fixed on them the entire way.

* * *

Hearth was ablaze with activity as it always was, scores of sailors and travelers of all kinds intermingling and conversing loudly with one another as they tended to their vessels, sorted through the wares of different shopkeepers and their stalls, or joined groups of beasts to visit the local taverns close to the docks. A procession of Waverunners called for them to make way as they pushed through the crowd of beasts and towards a small, rickety vessel at the end of one of the docks.

"That's the one, right?" Frederick asked, reading the name that had been hastily carved onto the side. " _The Silver Maiden?_ That was the name of your other ship, wasn't it, wot?"

Ciera glanced up towards the vessel as she kept pace with the hare and his soldiers. "Aye, I liked the name," the ferret said simply, though it was clear to the admiral that there was more to it than that, though he chose not to pursue the issue any further.

As they arrived at the gangplank, one of the Waverunners looked to Ciera. "Your paws," he said simply with a gesture towards them.

Ciera raised them without a word, watching as the beast produced a key from his belt and unlocked her manacles, gravity overtaking them as they slipped from around her wrists and fell to the deck below in a clatter of iron. He nodded his head for her to ascend the gangplank, but she turned back to Frederick. "I need one last word with your admiral before I go. Alone."

The soldiers looked towards Frederick hesitantly, awaiting his orders.

"Very well, captain." He turned to the other Waverunners, dismissing them with a single nod before following the ferret on board her ship.

"I've made sure that you were provided with enough provisions to last a short journey, at least until you can reach another port to restock," Frederick said as Ciera led him into the hold of the ship where nobeast would be able to hear them. When the door was shut, he gestured to the back wall. "I've also made sure that you were well stocked in other ways, that I'm sure you'd appreciate."

Ciera glanced over her shoulder, noticing a familiar glint of a steel blade in the corner of the room. "It's typically not wise to let a prisoner go with their weapon."

"I suppose not," Frederick said, giving a shrug in response. "But, it's as you said, we've both made enemies. It's best we be prepared."

The ferret strode to where the blade lay on the wooden floor, grabbing it quickly and testing its weight in her paw before carefully stuffing it through her belt comfortably at her hip. "About that," she said, before turning back to the hare. "There's one last thing I need to tell you. I needed it to wait until we were alone."

Frederick raised a brow. "And what's that?"

"Don't trust anybeast," Ciera answered him. "Even the Waverunners."

"Why not?"

Ciera kept her tone low, her expression dark. "When I was with Blade, he was already prepared to take on Salamandastron. He had knowledge of defenses and secrets that he shouldn't have had access to, long before Scully told him anything. What Scully told him only confirmed it. Which means that someone knew he was still alive, somebeast within the mountain who had access to all of this information and wasn't afraid to tell him everything they knew."

"There's a spy in Salamandastron?"

"Aye. But there's no telling how many of them there are. It could be one beast, it could be hundreds. Especially after everything Atlas did." Ciera paused, looking to the door of the hold for a moment cautiously before turning back to the hare. "if I can give you some advice it would be to watch your back."

"Of course, thank you," Frederick answered with a single nod. "Now, before you leave, I also have advice for you."

"And what would that be?"

"I know what happened to Fildering," Frederick said bluntly.

"I don't know who that is," Ciera said with a quizzical look.

Frederick frowned. "He was one of our soldiers. Young, brave, perilous... he would have made a good lieutenant or colonel one day. After you abandoned us with those serpents, you ordered his death on the beach. I wondered where he was after the mongooses captured you. Your shipmate, Vera, told me everything."

The pirate rolled her eyes at the name and sighed.

"So, my advice for you is simple. Sail as far away as you can possibly go. I'm giving you your life, but don't think for a moment that I've forgiven you for the crimes you've done or the lives you've taken, so it would be in your best interest if you disappeared, and never came back," Frederick said.

Ciera's gaze narrowed and she shook her head. "I'm not like Blade, I don't just disappear."

"I figured that'd be your answer," the hare replied, "so, I'll give you the same warning that I gave the others. What you have before you is a second chance to find an honest life. A pirate can still make amends. But, the Waverunners still stand to protect the seas from brigands and wavescum, so, if you return to your ways, if I so much as hear your name whispered in a negative light, Captain Ancora, then we will find you."

"I wouldn't have expected anything else," Ciera snorted. The ferret watched as Frederick began to take his leave, but she stopped him before he got to the door. "I'll keep an ear out for you. Word travels fast among pirates. If I hear anything about Blade, you'll be the first to know."

"And here I thought you wouldn't want to work for a Waverunner," Frederick chuckled.

"I don't," Ciera spat. "But that town of yours is the one chance we vermin are going to get to have a place in the world."

"I thought you didn't believe it would work."

"No," she said, "but that doesn't mean I don't want it to. I've always fought for piracy, it was a place where we belonged, but if this works, Swiftpaw, and we finally have a home, then you can be damn sure that I'll defend it to the death."

"We'll keep in touch then, Captain Ancora," Frederick said with a smirk. "Until next time."

"Aye, until then."

With that, Frederick left the ferret in the darkness of the hull, stepping across the gangplank and beginning the short walk back towards Salamandastron. As he walked, warm sunshine fell upon his back as he watched The Silver Maiden slowly drift out of the port until it was nothing more than a speck on the ocean. It was a peaceful day, and soft wind blew through the hare's fur as he listened in on the jovial conversations of the other beasts around him, laughing and singing, blissfully unaware of the dangers that could very well be right around the corner. Because, though he would fight to stop it, he knew Ciera was right.

A storm was on the horizon.


	98. Epilogue: Come To Me

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Epilogue: Come to Me**

 _By: Crue Sarish_

* * *

Crue paused, staring at the large white and yellow flower she cradled in her paws. It was lovely, colorful, and fragile. Just like life, she thought before putting it into a nearby basket and going back for more. It would make a fitting addition to the pyre being constructed by the men.

Over the last few days, the mongooses scoured Dead Rock in search of their fallen warriors. Their corpses had been pulled out of the mountain and covered in a large, shallow grave until a proper funeral could be prepared. The bodies of the dead pirates were loaded aboard the last of the ships, set adrift, and having been rigged by Blade's followers, summarily sunk to the bottom of the sea. Crue waited impatiently for the funeral and spent that time salvaging supplies from the pirate's leftovers, including paper and ink from Blade's office.

But now the waiting was over. Tears slipped down her face as she collected flowers and sweet-smelling herbs with the mongoose women. She stuck close to the other healer, Moka, who kept her occupied with the names and attributes of each plant, but also shared in her grief. Once the baskets were filled, the women made their way back to the village. The mongooses wailed with all their might, their loud cries a reflection of their grief as well as letting the others know of their return. Crue wept, but in a quieter fashion, wiping her nose with a spare bit of cloth she used as a handkerchief.

All of village stood ready as the women entered. The warriors brandished their weapons, cleaned and polished after the recent battle, and fell in line as the flower bearers made their way toward the beach. A low, rhythmic chant was taken up by the men, their voices conveying an old language that coursed through the evening air. Crue listened to the wailing women and the chorus of men, hearing her own emotions reflected as they walked.

As they arrived at the beach, the noise ceased and Crue faced a massive structure and wondered how they had been able to erect so large a pyre so quickly. A large, red shroud had been placed over the bodies, but now that they had arrived, it was pulled away by two priests. Reverently, they folded the shroud and placed it before Dekeft.

"Eet es reminder," began Laika, who stood with the other wailing women, "of te cost of loyalty. Te First Atilak must lead te village vit honor. He must protect t'e village from danger, en show honor to t'ose who fall en battle."

After Dekeft accepted the shroud, he brought it over to Laika and placed it in her paws. Leaning in close to Crue, he spoke quietly, "I not know your customs vit' te deed. Monkoozers may keep te skull or te claws. Do you vant part of Tooley to keep vit you, Crue?"

Crue's stomach jumped at the suggestion. She forced down her repulsion of the idea, fully aware that Dekeft was sincere in his desire to honor her wishes. After swallowing, she replied, "No… thank you."

The leader of the mongoose tribe nodded solemnly. He made a motion toward a few others and when they came back, Crue saw them carrying Tooley's body on a stretcher, also covered with a red shroud. This was folded by another priest and set before Crue as the weasel's body was placed with the other brave hunters who'd lost their lives. Having given his hat to Tooley's father, she was glad to have something with which to remember her friend… even if she would have to wash it.

The squirrel and the group of mongooses who'd collected flowers now set about placing them around the sides of the pyre and up among the corpses, creating a display of beauty among the fallen. Once the baskets were empty, they rejoined the throng. Dekeft and Laika then turned and led the group back toward the village while the priests performed the cremation. Once they returned, they were greeted by the sound of drums beating out a lively cadence.

Under the roof of the meeting hall the celebration began. The drummers drummed and singers sang ballads of great exploits and great hunters. Those that did not dance were treated to a grand feast: roasted fish cooked with cayenne and pineapple, whole boiled crabs, sliced yams, coconut cream pudding sprinkled with cinnamon, and other delightful dishes.

Crue tried to take part in the celebration of life, but after a short while, she knew she wasn't up to swapping favorite memories of lost loved ones. While everyone was distracted with their dancing and conversations, she slipped away.

Inside what was once Shuga's den, twelve of the fourteen woodlanders who had been released from Dead Rock attempted to heal. Two had died on the first day, free to pass on without the threat of the whip to bring them back. Two more were not long far behind, their bodies too badly damaged by years of servitude. The other ten encouraged her with their progress. While they were loathe to remain on the island, Crue assured them that another ship would come soon enough.

"But what if," a mouse asked, pausing to catch another breath, "they were… killed?"

Crue poured the mouse another cup of water. "Have faith, Quinn. If they were able to drive Blade and his pirates from this island, they won't be easily defeated. They will reach Mossflower, and soon enough they will send someone to come for you, ayah!"

She covered her mouth with a paw and smiled as that last word slipped out.

Once she had seen to her patients, she retreated to the small room that was her own and sat down at the small table that had been brought in for her use.

* * *

 _Dear Feorag,_

 _I'm writing this letter today in the event that a ship comes soon and I'm able to send this to you. Today was difficult for me, and writing down my thoughts makes it seem like someone is listening. If you're reading this, I can only assume that you've heard all about the fate of Lord Atlas's expedition. With events still fresh in my mind, I don't care to relive them in this letter. Instead, I will focus on what I have left: my new life here and the beasts I've come to live with._

 _The mongoose tribe I've been "adopted" by has an interesting set of deities. Unlike some gods that demand worship and sacrifice, these people believe it is their responsibility to care for their gods, even to the point of sending the deceased to provide these gods with company. There was more to it than that, but it's something along those lines._

 _The cremation process is in honor of their Fire God; not the one that Captain Blade pretended to be, but a... normal one that they can't actually see. Today we scattered the ashes of the warriors who were killed in battle, spreading some in the ocean for Mai'ryg, some buried at a shrine for Ku'ryg, and still more we took to the top of that forsaken mountain and scattered ashes to the wind for Lo'ryg. While it was difficult to say goodbye, it's almost as if the ones who were lost are now a part of the earth, alive in the natural processes that take place all over the world._

 _I've changed, if you can't tell. A year ago, I would have told anyone who would listen that all of this superstitious nonsense was worth as much as a pet hagfish. I told you your "show" was excessive and unnecessary, and while I still think you were over the top, I can see now that your methods have a spark of truth to them. The woodlanders who were too sick to go are having a hard time believing that someone will come and rescue them, and I find myself having to believe for them. I'm having to distract them from their fear of dying here on this island, and I'll admit, some days it's hard to get creative._

 _It makes me wish you were here. It's strange that after we parted ways last year, I hardly thought about you until just recently. If you are able to come here, there's so much I could show you. This island affords innumerable research opportunities, and I know you would be fascinated by all it has to offer._

 _If nothing else, please write back. There's not much to read here._

 _My sincerest regards,_

 _Crue Sarish_

* * *

 _Dear Feorag,_

 _Thank you for sending that chest. Those herbs will be invaluable and it feels good to have a couple of books in my paws_

 _Yes, I know I've been here for a month. No, I'm not coming back yet. Yes, I still want you to come here. No, I don't believe you'd currently be in a relationship with anything that wasn't at least silver-plated._

 _While I've always been "useful" wherever I go, I've come to realize that here, among the mongooses, I am making a positive difference. If you met these beasts, you'd see how full of life they are! They love my stories of Mossflower, of Salamandastron, of the huge cities and structures that have been arisen, and of the vast woods where you see nothing but trees in every direction. I've had the honor of bandaging their wounded, of comforting those still mourning their lost loved ones, and even of witnessing the birth of one of their infants. Even though I'm teaching a few of them how to read and write, I'm learning more from them than I could possibly teach._

 _They have shown me far more respect and trust than I could ever hope for, and I wouldn't trade that for all the gold coins in the world._

 _Speaking of gold, I had a surprise visit from the Waverunners a short time ago, among them Chak Ku'rill. If any beast has been changed by what we went through, it's him. When I first met him, he was a pirate, a slavedriver, a cold-blooded killer, a beast with a hole where his heart should be. Now he has life in his eyes, a penitent spirit, and a drive to rectify past wrongs._

 _He informed me that he dove down into the sea to recover the treasure that the pirates were bringing with them to Salamandastron. I don't know if it was his idea, but after the loot was brought up from the depths, it was divided among those who survived this ordeal, everyone from Colonel Swiftpaw - who gave his away, if I recall - to the Loamara family, still mourning their loss of Tildy._

 _Chak said that Blade's treasure did not only consist of gold and silver and jewels, but also of books filled with pages and pages of lost information. It broke my heart to hear that the books went down with Blade and the_

 _Zephyr, but he informed me that not all of the treasure was taken off of the island. With his help, we were led to a secret chamber deep within Dead Rock, lit by a bioluminescent fungus I have yet to study, and there we discovered what had been left behind. It was enough precious metals and jewels to sink a galleon, which makes sense that Blade left it behind._

 _While I wish that I could have seen my friend Robert Rosequill again, I understand that his injury prevented him from coming. And with what the others who escaped went through, I don't blame them for not wanting to return. The new Waverunners were swift and efficient in their collection of Blade's remaining loot, and I am hopeful knowing it is in far better hands now. I just hope that it's use this time around will help make up for all the damage it caused before._

 _Now, if you're wondering whether or not I received a portion, I did accept a small sum. If you're considering visiting me to gain access to my newly acquired hoard of riches, you will be disappointed. I returned most of what was offered. However, I would pay you well if you would perform a few small tasks. First, I would like for you to deliver the attached letter to my family, informing them that I am well and retrieving letters from them in return. Second, I would like for you to purchase supplies from an enclosed list and hand-deliver them to me. I know you will ensure that they arrive undamaged and… unsampled._

 _The former woodland slaves are well on their way to recovering, and with their departure aboard Chak's vessel, I am the only squirrel here. I miss the companionship of other woodlanders, and yours especially. Please come. Without stooping to begging, I can't ask you to come more emphatically._

 _Waiting impatiently,_

 _Crue Sarish_

 _P.S. If you're heard stories about snakes here on the island, it's entirely possible that they're true. Having developed a true with the mongooses, they now reside within Dead Rock. Anyone who would want to turn the mountain into their own personal Salamandastron again would find its residents to be highly disagreeable._


	99. Epilogue: The Road Goes Ever On

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Epilogue: The Road Goes Ever On**

 _By: Vera Silvertooth_

* * *

"I can't do this, Vera," Hylan whispered, leaning back against a tree, just out of sight of the house.

Vera sighed, "This is your family, Hylan. They love you." Yet she understood his reluctance. Half a season had passed since they'd returned to Mossflower, but Hylan was still thinner than he'd been before his capture by Blade, and no passage of time would remove the scars from his face or bring back his tail.

"I... I know..."

She pointed a claw at him. "Don't you go anywhere. I'm going talk to them. Let them know, gently, what happened."

He gnawed at his lip for a time, but stayed where he was in the shadow of the tree.

Vera headed up the path worn by the tread of seasons of paws. The late afternoon sun beat down on her back as she walked up to the familiar house and knocked on the door.

After a moment, a graying pine marten female opened the door. She peered at Vera through her spectacles, then blinked.

"Vera? Vera Silvertooth?"

Vera smiled politely. "Hello, Melva. How are you?"

"Oh, fine, dear. Fine. Never thought I'd see you on my doorstep again. Come in, come in."

Vera glanced over her shoulder, and spotted Hylan peeping around the tree. She followed the older marten into the house.

"Sit down. I'll get you some tea."

Vera set her pack down on the floor by the table. "Actually, I think it would be best if you sat for a minute, Melva. Is the rest of your family around?"

"Oh, Daric's out back puttering around in that garden of his." Melva continued busying herself with the teapot, filling it from a bucket in the corner. "Ietta and her husband are at the shop, along with all those grandbabies of mine. Terel is on the road, running shipments. Did you hear? Terel got married last season. Lovely young thing, his new bride."

Vera cleared her throat and took the teapot from Melva. "I need to talk to you and Daric. It's very important."

The pine marten looked intently at Vera for a moment. "Goodness, you always were the serious one. Fine. You pull out the tea things and I'll fetch my husband."

Melva's kitchen hadn't changed in the seasons since Vera had last stopped in, though maybe the old teacups had a few more chips in them than before. She had the table laid for tea for four when Hylan's father followed Melva back into the house.

"Surprised to see you here, Vera," Daric said as he shook her paw. "Heard odd rumors about you a couple seasons back."

Vera's ears perked forward. "Oh, really?"

"Well, everybeast 'round here seems to think you died in that awful fire at Fort Blackfur. 'Cept for that Captain. He claimed you started the fire to cover up that you stole from him."

"Rigal must have really thought highly of me," she said lightly and swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "I barely managed to escape with my own tail in that fire. I wasn't aware anybeast else had made it out."

"Rigal and maybe a score of the soldiers did."

Vera's stomach did a flip-flop, though she shrugged. "Well, I'm not here to talk about that. I've got something very important to tell you, but you both best sit down."

The marten couple glanced at each other but sat down in their seats. "Is it bad news, Vera?"

"No, I think you'll be pleased, but it's... complicated."

Daric poured himself a cup of tea and passed the teapot to his wife. "Get yakkin' then, vixen."

Melva began pouring tea as Vera cleared her throat. "I found out what happened to Hylan."

Melva and Daric both froze in place. Melva blinked, then put the teapot down before she overflowed her cup. "Dear, I know how close you were to my son, and it would be nice to know how he died, but I would hardly..."

"He's alive," she said quickly.

Melva made a soft noise and covered both her paws over her mouth.

Vera spoke quickly. "He's alive, but he was hurt. He's been a slave for a very long time. He's afraid of what you might think of him, if you saw him."

"Hylan's alive," Melva whispered. "Where is he?"

Daric reached across the table to clasp his wife's paw. "Easy, Mel. Vera's gettin' to that, I'm sure. How badly was he hurt?"

Vera closed her eyes, not wanting to see the looks on their faces. "They branded his face and cut off his tail." She cringed as she heard Melva's horrified gasp, followed by weeping. She opened her eyes and stared at the table while the Daric whispered to his wife and the sniffles slowed.

After Melva had been calmed some, Vera whispered. "Hylan's been through a lot. He was afraid to come back, to beasts who'd known him before."

"My son always was proud," Daric said, "but he should have known better. Where's he at, Vera?"

She nodded her head at the door. "Just outside, at the edge of the tree line."

Daric pushed himself to his feet. "I'll go have a word with my boy. You ladies wait here. I'll bring him in."

Vera sat as Daric exited the house. Melva dabbed at her eyes with a linen handkerchief she'd pulled from her apron pocket.

After a time, the door opened and Daric walked back in, with Hylan behind him. Hylan's head was bent, his face hidden by the brim of his huge pirate hat.

Melva moved fast for an older beast and she hugged her son so tight Vera heard him wheeze. Then she pulled the hat off Hylan's head and gently laid a paw on one of his cheek brands. "Oh, Hy. What did they do to you?"

"I'm fine, Mother," he muttered. "Really. It's..."

Melva started weeping again and hugged her son close.

Daric caught Vera's eye and jerked his head at the back door. Vera quietly got up and followed him out.

"Would you do me a favor, Vera?" the pine marten patriarch asked once they were outside. Vera nodded and he continued, "Go to the shop in the village. Let Ietta know. She'll want to see her brother."

"Of course," Vera said. "I was planning on staying at the inn tonight, so I'll stop in on my way."

"Now there's no need for that," Daric said hastily. "Our home is yours."

She placed a paw on his shoulder. "Thanks for the offer, Daric, but your son just came back from the dead. You all need to catch up and I'd only get in the way. I'll see Hylan later."

She slipped back inside and quietly grabbed her bag from where it sat against the table leg. Melva had Hylan in a chair and had both his paws in hers as they talked quietly, tears streaming down both their faces. Vera looked away and hurried out, slight jealousy aching in her stomach as she went.

She followed the path to the village and headed to the small store that Hylan's family had owned for years. In the shadow of the front of the building, a pair of pine marten kits played with a set of rocks and some small wooden figures. They didn't even glance at Vera as they made a pair of the figurines carried on a heated conversation.

A bell over the door tinkled as Vera opened it.

"Good afternoon, how may I help y... oh, Vera! It's you!"

She nodded to the pine marten who stood behind the counter with an infant on her hip. "It's me," she said dryly.

Ietta set her little one on the floor and he promptly pattered away on all fours. "It's wonderful to see you. I heard you were dead."

"Your father told me the same thing a bit ago."

"Oh, you've already stopped in to see them?"

Vera watched Hylan's nephew as he made his way over to a stack of metal bowls on a low shelf. "I did. Had to bring them some good news."

"Do share," Ietta laughed, "but do it fast before my kit gets the spoon. We won't be able to hear ourselves once he gets going."

Vera eyed the kit as he tottered to his footpaws and reached for a wooden spoon on the shelf above the bowls. "It's about your brother, Hylan." Ietta froze and sobered, but Vera continued, "He's alive. I just left him with your parents."

Hylan's typically chatty sister was speechless. She stood there, jaw gaping and eyes wide. The kit began beating on the pile of metal bowls with enthusiasm.

Vera cringed at the loud ringing and moved to cover her ears. "He's pretty beat up after all he's been through, but he's alive and he's home," she shouted over the racket.

Ietta blinked and her eyes filled with tears. She finally closed her mouth and suddenly turned and ran into the back room of the store. "Alph! Alph! You're not going to believe it!" she hollered out as the kit continued banging for a moment, before realizing his mother had left.

"Mama?" he said and returned to all fours, pattering after her, taking his spoon with him.

Ietta returned a few moments later with her husband in tow, scooping up the little one as she did. "I'll head to Mum and Dad's right away," she was saying to Alph. "Get the kits together and meet me there."

Vera had to grab Ietta by the arm to stop her from rushing past. "Just so you know, Hylan looks a lot different. It might be hard to see him." She saw the question in Ietta's eyes and said softly, "His captors branded him and cut off his tail."

Ietta stared at her with wide eyes. "By the seasons," she whispered. "What happened?" Then she shuddered and shook her head. "No, it doesn't matter. He's my brother. The important thing is that he's alive."

Vera watched as Ietta hurried out of the shop and down the street. _I hope you realize how lucky you are, Hylan._

She made polite small talk with Alph before excusing herself and heading back outside. The sun had nearly reached the horizon and the buildings around her cast long shadows.

She stood on the street in indecision for a while, looking first towards T _he Staff and Flask_ at the end of the block, then at a tailor's shop at the other end. Hitching her bag up higher over her shoulder, she headed for the shop.

The village of Birchwood was primarily occupied by pine martens, with a smattering of other beasts who passed through on occasion, so she wasn't surprised to see another pine marten female sitting in a chair sewing a dress.

"Hello, Vilien."

She glanced up. "Oh, it's you. I guess the rumor's weren't true after all."

Vera rolled her eyes heavenward. "Good to see you, too, Vil. Forgive me for being blunt, but I've had a long day. Are you still single?"

Vilian snorted, "No, I won't forgive you for that, Vera. You always were so rude."

"I take that as a yes?"

"If you must."

Vera bit back a rude comment and smiled sweetly. "Good, that should really make Hylan's day."

Vilian glared at Vera, lowering the dress she was stitching. "How dare you! I thought you had more tact that to bring him up like that."

"Hylan's alive, Vil. I've left him at his parents house, getting reacquainted." She turned to go, having said her piece.

"Wait," Vilian said as Vera started to close the door behind her. "You're serious?"

Vera glanced back. "He won't come see you on his own. He's too ashamed, but I thought you'd want to know."

"Why would Hylan be ashamed? He was never ashamed of anything."

"He didn't even want to face his own parents," Vera snapped. "What makes you think he'd want to see you?" She looked down at the floor and then back up, adding in a softer tone, "He was a slave. They... hurt him."

Vil stood so quiet that Vera wondered if she had made a mistake and moved to go once more.

"How bad?" Vilian asked quietly.

"Would it matter?"

More silence, then the female shook her head. "No. No, it wouldn't matter. I love him still, no matter what."

Vera rested her paw on the handle of the door and closed her eyes for a moment. Part of her wanted Vilian to get that same horrible shock that Vera herself had when first seeing Hylan again. Yet she knew that revealing himself to her then had taken more courage than the marten had thought he had. He didn't deserve to face his lover with her unprepared.

"It's his face. They branded him three times," she said, ignoring the gasp of horror from Vilian. "And... they cut off his tail."

"How could anybeast do..." Vilian choked.

"You're lucky he's alive."

Vilian stared at her for a time, then set aside her sewing. "Thank you for telling me. That was very kind of you."

Vera nodded and left. _I didn't do it for you._

* * *

 _The Staff and Flask_ was much as she remembered it. The decor hadn't changed, and in the busy, early evening hours, neither had the patrons, it seemed. Several beasts glanced her direction and then back to their own dealings.

A hunchbacked old weasel suddenly looked back in disbelief. "Vera? We thought you were dead!"

Then a number of familiar old faces turned around and Vera shrugged and said lightly, "Would I be standing here if I was?"

Those who remembered her hustled to the door. "We heard all about the horrid fire at Fort Blackfur," a ferretmaid said. "Rumor was you died in the blaze. Nobeast has heard from you since."

Vera forced a laugh. "I nearly did. I barely escaped with my tail intact, but I got lucky."

"But where have you been?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to travel again, so I've been doing that."

"Aye," an old searat said from the bar, "ye've got th' look of a beast wi' adventure behind 'er, now. Bet ye've some tales to tell."

A few willing paws pushed her towards the bar. "Oh, no, no, no. You all should remember I'm not the best of storytellers."

"Aye, that were that matey o' yers, eh?" The searat took a long draught from his ale. "Always singin' an' storytellin' that one were."

"Yes, he was." Vera spotted a couple of Hylan's old friends sitting at a table together, where they had often been in the days before. One of them lifted a mug to her. She considered telling the whole room about Hylan's return, but decided against it. She'd broken the ice for him as far as his family was concerned. He could manage his old friends and acquaintances on his own.

Vera dropped a paw to the pocket of the dress she wore. Her amulet and Fildering's picture, still nestled in it's protective shells, rested there, never far from her. The familiar ache of jealousy wormed through her as she thought of how terribly the hare's sister surely missed him.

She started as somebeast pressed a mug of cider into her paw. "Come on, Vera. Give us a story!"

"No, really, I can't..."

The beasts cajoled her until she finally took a long swig of the cider to clear her throat. "All right, all right. How about I tell you about the sinking of the _Silver Maiden_?"

* * *

Vera sat by herself at the bar later, sipping a cup of hot tea. She'd put off the patrons who'd urged her for more stories of pirates by claiming her throat was sore. So now she enjoyed just listening to the clamor and the chatter of _The Staff and Flask_ as she waited.

As sometimes happens in taverns, there was a lull in the conversation. Because she'd been expecting it, Vera was the first to hear the strains of singing from somewhere outside.

"Say, Sesha," she asked the owner, with a smile playing around her lips, "can I borrow one of your cooking spoons for a moment?"

"What do you need a..." the rat trailed off as she heard what Vera had. "That can't be..."

"A spoon, if you please."

Things went quiet quickly, as Hylan's singing voice rang clearly through the night air. A few of those who didn't understand the significance tried to engage in conversation again, but they were quickly shushed.

Right on cue, the door swung open and Hylan stepped in, still wearing his hat, paw in paw with Vilian.

Vera loosed the spoon, sending it sailing across the room, end over end. Hylan didn't see it, because he'd kept his head ducked slightly, keeping his scarred face in the shadow of his hat. He yelped as it clipped the brim of the hat and sent it off his head.

"Dang it, Vers!" He stooped to pick up the hat and the spoon. Then he looked up a little sheepishly at the silent, staring crowd of _The Staff and Flask_. "What? Ain't you all ever seen a beast come back from the dead before?"

Vera just leaned back against the bar and grinned as Hylan's old friends rushed him with laughter and hearty back slaps. She caught eyes with her friend and grinned. He returned the grin, looking more like his old self than he had in days.

Later, they all sat around the table together, enjoying good drinks and good food while Hylan entertained them all with stories of their adventures.

"So there I am," Hylan said, after a long drink of ale, "sticking pirates in the ribs with the stolen dagger, keepin' my head down the whole time. Then I hear this unholy shriek and a scream. I look up and here comes Vera with this bird hard on her tail. Fella was as green as emeralds and madder than a nest full of hornets. Vera goes right into the middle of the fight, screaming her head off about how the bird was gonna kill her." He draped himself back across the chair, paw to his brow as he said in a high falsetto that wasn't at all like Vera's voice, "Oh, help me. Save me! He's going to kill me."

Vera flicked a hunk of bread at him which bounced off his nose and everybeast laughed.

Hylan straightened with a grin. "Of course, she was acting just as much as I was. Anyway, she latches on to the fox in charge of them pirates and does a beautiful begging plea for him to save her life. Manages to get the bird and the pirate talking of course, which makes things easier for our friends on the ship." Hylan tipped his mug back and finished off the last of the ale. "Well, there was some sorta history between the bird and the pirate. I don't know if Vers knew that or we just got lucky, but next thing we know, the pirates are divided in two factions and fighting amongst themselves. Then I says to myself, 'Vera and me gotta get outta here.' I try to get her away from the fighting and she starts fighting with me, thinking I'm one of the pirates."

Vera pushed back from the table quietly and went to the bar as Hylan's story continued. Sesha, the owner, leaned against the section of the bar closest to Hylan's table, listening to the story as well.

"Another round, Sesha," Vera said. "He's not done yet."

The rat turned away reluctantly to fill more mugs. "You really do all that, Vera? The poisoning, and the pirates, and all?"

Vera shrugged. "Yes, though Hylan makes it sound so much more exciting than it really was."

"Sure doesn't sound dull."

"I've never been more terrified in my entire life."

"By the by," Sesha set a pair of mugs on a tray and leaned forward to speak in a whisper. "You should know that Captain Rigal was here about a fortnight ago. He's been looking for you. Blames you for the burning of his fort. I don't know who's telling the truth about that, but if Rigal sees you, I'll wager that he's going to kill you."

Vera's stomach tied itself in a knot. "Do you know where he went?"

"He's been keeping an eye on the coastline towns, but he drifts back in every so often." Sesha turned back to fill another pair of mugs from the big barrel behind her. "If I were you, I'd make myself scarce sooner rather than later."

"Thanks for the warning, Sesha."

The rat smiled. "Well, my kitchen hasn't been the same since you left, and half my patrons still miss your cooking. If you get things ironed out with Rigal at any point, I've still got room for you here."

Vera nodded and took the tray of mugs back to the table, right about the time Hylan finished up his story. She took one of the mugs and sat, rolling the pewter between her paws and not drinking a drop.

* * *

"And what do you think you're doing, vixen?"

Vera jumped and whirled around. She'd been in the process of packing her bag, taking advantage of the quiet morning hours while everyone was sleeping off the drink and the late night.

Hylan stood in the doorway of her room, hat dangling from one paw, his clothes rumpled from being slept in. "You ain't leaving already?"

She sighed and turned back to her bag, where she was putting a change of clothes. "Sesha told me last night that Rigal's been looking for me."

Hylan blinked owlishly, then rubbed at his snout. "Blasted rat," he grumbled and Vera wasn't sure if he was referring to Rigal or Sesha. "And blasted you, too. I still can't believe you tried to kill a whole fort of soldiers. What were you thinking?"

She'd told Hylan the whole story of Rigal and getting her amulet back. Yes, she'd acted stupidly. She admitted that now. "I don't know, but I can't stay here."

"So you're running away, again?"

She rested her paws on her pack and sighed. "What else can I do, Hylan? Rigal will kill me if he catches me."

"I'll go with you then."

"No," she barked, then lowered her voice. "Hylan, you need to be home. You need to stay here. It wouldn't be fair to your family and Vilian if you took off again the day after coming back."

He scrubbed a paw through his headfur. "I don't like the idea of you traveling on your own. What if Rigal catches up with you?"

"I spent many seasons traveling on my own before I ever met you. Besides, this time, I won't have to work my way from town to town." She had a small fortune in coin securely hidden in the bottom of her bag, her share of the treasure Chak had found when he dove after the _Zephyr_.

"That still doesn't answer the question of what you'll do if Rigal catches you."

She turned to face him. "I'll be fine, Hylan. If he finds me, I'll figure something out."

The pine marten raised an eyebrow, his doubt not eased by her words. "Where will you go?"

"Home."

His other eyebrow joined the first as his eyes widened. "Really? Finally going to face your family?"

She shrugged. "I'm going to try. They probably all think I'm dead too, just like everyone here did."

"That should surprise them," he snorted with half a chuckle. "Well, write me, Vera, so I know you're safe. I won't sleep a wink if I know the captain is looking for you." He yawned, widely and leaned his head back. "I should get back to bed. I'm going to have a doozy of a headache when that sun comes up."

"Take care of yourself, Hylan."

He gave her a lazy, lopsided grin. "Same to you, Vera. See you soon, eh?"

She gave him a brief hug. "Yeah. Let me know if there's a wedding I need to attend anytime soon."

He half-choked, half-laughed. "Cripes, Vera. Vil and I have nearly nine seasons of catchin' up to do. We're not going to be speeding things along that fast."

"Sure, whatever you say. Get yourself to bed."

He nodded, and covered a yawn again with a paw. "Safe travels, my friend. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She snorted back a laugh and did up the straps on her bag before hoisting it over her shoulder. Nothing else remained in the room to reveal that it had been hers. She quietly made her way down the halls and out the back door. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. She headed straight to the trees, avoiding the road and any eyes that may eventually pass on word to a certain rat captain.

* * *

Vera made her way northeast quickly, never staying more than a night in any one place and giving false names every place she stopped. She'd skirted past Redwall Abbey a couple days before and had spent the noon hour at Galbraith Hall, where she'd been given directions by a reluctant badger marm.

Finally, she found what she was looking for. A house in the forest, not far from the Hall.

She dug into a pack on her back and pulled out the letter she'd written earlier. Tucked inside the paper was the little charcoal drawing that survived the voyage over the sea, the island, Dead Rock, and the return trip. She hesitated, then approached the door and knocked quickly.

After a moment, the door opened, revealing an older female hare. She gave a start at seeing a vixen standing on her stoop and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What do you want?"

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Vera said. "You wouldn't happen to be Mrs. Dillwither's, would you?"

"I am."

Vera held out her letter with a shaky paw. "This is for you, then. I'm very sorry."

"What's this?" the hare questioned, but took the letter just the same.

Vera immediately turned and followed her trail back into the woods, knowing what the hare would see when she opened the letter.

 _To Mr. and Mrs. Dillwithers,_

 _I hope by now you have heard from those at Salamandastron concerning your son, Fildering. I hope my news doesn't come as a complete shock. If it does, I'm truly, very sorry._

 _My name is Vera, and I'm sorry to say, but I was the last beast that saw Fildering alive. I was at his side when he died. He was murdered by pirates._

 _I spent a little time with Fildering. We had been stranded on an island when pirates attacked our vessels and a strange twist of fate landed us together. I know it may be of little comfort, but he was very brave. I watched him facing off against pirates on a burning ship and later he saved my life when I was attacked by a serpent on the island._

 _I wish I could have returned the favor._

 _This little picture was in his pocket and it was the only thing I was able to salvage before he was buried. He mentioned his sister with fondness and I just hope that she knows what a brave brother she had. She should be very proud of him and I hope that her memories of him are all happy ones._

 _I think he wanted nothing more than to come home and see you all again. I wish I didn't have to bear this hard news, but because of what Fildering did for me, I felt it was only right._

 _Know that he lived and died bravely and that his murderer is dead._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Vera Silvertooth_

* * *

It was still early autumn, but this far north it wasn't uncommon for freak snowstorms. Vera tried to hunch her head down deeper in the scarf she'd bought at the village that morning. It didn't really help and she shivered as she continued walking over the new snow, following the memory of a path.

Half her lifetime had passed since she last walked it. The trees stood bigger than she remembered and a few times she wondered if maybe she was going the wrong way.

She smelled woodsmoke and reached the edge of the treeline, where she looked down on the little hollow, nestled against a steep hillside. The den was there, about the same as always. She spotted doors to other dens in the hill that Vera didn't remember being there before.

In the clearing in front of the dens, a half dozen fox kits of varying ages were having a snowball fight. Most of them were red-furred, though she spotted two gray ones in the mix.

She watched them from the top of the rise and blinked back a tear. Then one of the kits looked her way and spotted her. He gave a sharp whistle and all play stopped and the young foxes scattered like snowflakes, heading into her old den. Moments later, a big male fox exited with a short spear in paw.

She lingered there on the rise as he approached her. "What do you want?" he snarled.

Vera snorted and pulled the scarf down from her face. "Really, Bryht? This is how you welcome your sister back?"

Her eldest brother blinked, then frowned. His spear lowered. "By Vulpez... Vera? You're alive? It's been seasons since we heard from you! We thought for sure you were dead."

She sighed and shrugged. "Yeah, that rumor's been going around, it seems."

He thumped the butt of his spear in the snow. "You got a lot of nerve, showing back up now."

 _Welcome home..._ "Yes, I know. I've got something for Mother. Is she inside?"

He snorted. "You really think bringing a present for her will make her forgive you for what you did?"

"No."

The two foxes stared at one another for several long moments. "Fine," Bryht finally said. "Let's go."

She followed him down to the old den, noting the faces of the fox kits peering from the windows. Those faces continued to watch her as she walked in through the door after her brother.

"It's Vera," Bryht said as she closed the door behind her and took a good look around.

The cozy cave had been remodeled from the last time she'd been home as a young fox maid. The wall between the main living area and the old bedrooms had been removed and she saw a newer door against what used to be the back wall of her room.

The room was filled with fox kits, more than had been outside. A gray vixen, probably the mother of the gray kits she'd seen, stood over by the kitchen stove where a pot of soup simmered.

More importantly, there stood a older vixen, her orange fur graying around her muzzle. Her brown eyes glared daggers at Vera as she stood there with arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face.

Vera slowly lowered her pack to the floor and stepped closer. "Afternoon, Mother. It's good to see you."

She wasn't really surprised when her mother slapped her hard. The kits all gasped, then two started giggling, until Bryht cleared his throat.

Vera drew a deep breath, blinked quickly, and looked back up. "I suppose I deserved that."

"Darn right you did," her mother snapped. "Six seasons since we've heard from you! Six! And how many countless ones since you last walked in that door? You think you'd be received back with hugs and kisses!" Her mother's paw twitched as if she had the urge to slap Vera again.

Vera took a step back, just in case. "I'm sorry. I couldn't write."

"You couldn't?" her mother sneered. "You forget how? My only daughter, gadding off to who knows where for seasons on end. Barely a letter a season anyway, and then you just 'couldn't write'."

"Mother..." she said, trying to get a word in edgewise.

"No, you're not going to sweet talk me this time. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. All the worry you've put us through. Why, if your father were here, he'd have a thing or two to say to you."

Vera's world suddenly narrowed down to a small distant tunnel. She felt almost lightheaded. "Father's... gone? He's dead?"

"Yes, last spring. Illness. We all got sick with it, but it hit him the worst. Had you'd written, maybe you would have known." Her scowl wavered for a moment, and she hurriedly dashed a paw across her eyes.

Vera stared at the floor, words failing her. She'd always gotten along better with her father than her mother, at least since Sarn had died. He'd been the one she'd really looked forward to seeing.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered, finding her voice at last.

"Like Hellgates you are. Why bother coming back now, after all this time? Fall on hard times and come here looking for charity?"

Vera shook her head. "Of course not. I'd never..."

"Well, this certainly isn't a social call," her mother interrupted. "You must want something from me!"

Bryht interrupted calmly. "Vera said she had something for you, Mother."

The elder fox sneered. "Oh, really? Do you think a gift would get you back in my good graces? You have another thing coming, my girl, if you think some pitiful trinket from some _far off land_ would make any difference at all."

"It's not like that," Vera said, sticking a paw in the pocket of her skirt, where the ruby amulet sat. "If you'd let me explain a few things..."

"Explain? You think some lies and excuses and made up tales will butter me up?"

"Will you just shut up and listen to me!" Vera finally snapped. She pulled the amulet out of her pocket and thrust it at her mother. "This is why I couldn't write. I spent four seasons hiding who I was and where I'd come from so I'd have a chance to get that stupid thing back for you. Then I ended up on a leaky tub of a pirate ship when I tried to get away from the soldiers who were coming after me. I nearly lost that thing to a pirate king and just about died more than once for it!"

She released the chain, letting the amulet fall to the wood floor. "Sorry I couldn't write. I was protecting myself and protecting all of you." She took a step back and blinked back tears that began welling up in her eyes. "Sorry to have darkened your door, but at least you have that back now."

In the stunned silence that followed, she turned on her heel, picked up her pack, and left, slamming the door as hard as she could as she did so.

She got halfway back up the rise before she heard the paws running through the snow behind her. "Vera, wait," Bryht said.

She kept walking. "Why? I'm not welcome here. I knew I wouldn't be."

"Look, I'm sorry. You caught us all by surprise. The last few seasons have been hard, what with the illnesses and Father dying. Mother really has been worried about you."

"Sure, she has," Vera snorted. "Full of loving concern."

Bryht grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop. "You know what? You're as bad as she is! Knock it off, get your nose out of the air and come back inside."

Vera didn't look at her brother as she took several long slow breaths, watching as the air misted in front of her with each exhale. "No, I'm not staying here."

"Give her a chance to cool down."

"No." She tried to pull away.

He tightened his grip. "If you walk away now, you'll regret it the rest of your life. You know you will." Vera sighed and Bryht continued, "Look, there's an inn just west of here, in the old Brownpaw house. It's called _The Two Tails_. Stay there for a few days. Let Mother think it over. She will want to talk to you more after she's gotten over the shock."

Vera hung her head in defeat. "She's not going to want to talk to me."

"You'd be surprised, Vera. Please. You can't go without seeing Thall and Kear, anyway. And I know your nephews will be clamoring to hear more about these pirates."

Bryht finally released her and she crossed her arms over her chest, still not looking at him, or back at the house where she'd grown up.

"Stay. Just for a little while longer."

Vera stared the trail of pawtracks she'd left in the snow. She knew Bryht was right. She couldn't just leave without seeing the rest of her family, even if their reception wouldn't be much better.

"Fine. I'll stay at the inn. If anybeast wants to see me, they can come there."

* * *

Vera pushed open the big main door to _The Two Tails_. The common room sat vacant, but clean. Tables and chairs sat scattered about with unlit candles resting on the tops. The room smelled of pine, homebrewed ale, and faintly, something burning.

"Hello?" she called, and there was a clatter from somewhere else in the building. After a moment, a door swung open, letting out a gray fox covered in white flour. A swirl of smoke followed him out.

"So sorry!" he said, brushing off his paws on his apron, which did nothing to clean them, but rather got them even whiter. "May I help you?"

"Yes," she said. "I was hoping for a room."

"Of course. We're mostly empty right now, so you can have your pick of the rooms." He noticed the state of his paws and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about the mess. My help left me a few days ago. Been a bit of a struggle getting on without him."

She peered past him, to the kitchen, which seemed to be creating more smoke. Though she'd told Bryht that she'd only stay for a little while, the bedraggled look on the gray fox's face had her amending her plans. "Would you be interested in taking labor as payment? I'm a cook and..."

"Yes!" the fox interrupted. "If you can cook, you can have whatever room you want in exchange for your help. My sister helps me when she can, but she's got family and kits of her own and she's busy."

Vera let her pack slide down from her shoulder. "I'm not sure how long I'll be staying," she admitted, "but I'd be happy to work for my room and board."

The gray fox started to hold out his floured paw, hesitated, but Vera reached out and took it in a firm grip anyway. He grinned. "My friends call me Ash."

"Vera," she said.

"Welcome to _The Two Tails_ , Vera." Ash said. Behind him in the kitchen, something began sizzling and hissing loudly.

Vera shouldered past him. "Why don't I take care of that while you tell me what you'd like me to serve for supper?"

Ash followed her into the kitchen where Vera quickly dealt with the pot that was boiling over and the burning bread. Disasters averted, she set her pack in an out of the way corner and pulled out a yellow apron folded neatly inside. She slipped the string over her head, tied the back, and then smoothed down the front. She gave a brief start.

 _Of course there's nothing in the pocket,_ she chided herself. Fildering's picture and her mother's amulet were back where they belonged.

And so was she.


	100. Epilogue: The Halfrat

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Epilogue: The Halfrat**

 _By: Plink_

* * *

"I'm tellin' ye, Cap'n," the weasel said as he dripped and shivered in the ruins of the burnt-out tavern, "the Halfrat slew Blade with 'is own dagger. She good as bragged about it t' me."

Captain Julia Burnet trailed a paw along the cracked black bar and checked her pads. Wet smut darkened her skin. She sighed and kept her smart coat clear of the mess. The rain had hit hard with the dawn and the holes in the roof were extensive, but nothing would wash these ruins clean. This was hardly a place fit for a meeting of the mightiest remaining pirate captains, but with the loss of the island, the canons, and the treasure, pirate might no longer meant what it had just weeks before.

But Julia was not concerned. Fortunes rose and fortunes fell. When the coin flipped next, hers would be the winning side. She idly brushed the grime from her paw onto a serving rat's sleeve before casting a bland look back at the weasel. "The Waverunners tell the story differently."

"Bah," Petre Bloody Bells snorted where he sat with his boots kicked up on a charred table. "There be a world o' difference 'tween the truth an' what the cursed Waverunners believe. They said Blade were dead all them seasons, remember. So now they be sayin' the blind stripedog avenged 'imself 'gainst 'is mortal enemy, damnin' 'em both ter a watery grave. All that really means is they like a pretty, happy endin' t' their stories."

"Then you would have uss believe that little ssyncophant killed Blade?" Zorba shook his scaly head. Julia could see by the narrowing of his eyes that he was amused. "Hard tale to sswallow, Petre."

The searat shrugged, the bells in his beard rattling against his coatfront. "I just know what I know, an' her daddy may've been a Bladesbeast t' the core, but her ma never approved. Who knows what she taught 'er-"

"Ughsss! Would you quit jawing about that? No one caress about ssome long-dead ratwife."

"No one gives a damn about yer blasted destroyed homeland, either, ye great plated fool!"

"That's enough," Julia sighed. She fixed each captain with a dry glare, then turned her attention back to the weasel. "You've come a long way to bring us this information. What were you hoping to gain, Mister…?"

"Surg, ma'am. An' ah…" He licked his muzzle and smiled with his teeth. "I was hopin' I might join yer crew. Ain't a lot o' opportunities out there fer a weasel o' me own talents."

"Oh, I find that hard to believe. Why, it's just come to our attention that the new Admiral has opened Hearth to vermin. Surely you could find work sweeping streets or gathering refuse, or something of that nature."

Surg quivered between a grin and a snarl. "I'd rather eat me own belt, buckle an' all, than bow an' scrape fer woodlander table scraps."

"Your pride does you credit, Mister Surg." Burnet folded her arms slowly over her chest, not quite smirking but not far from it. This weasel was not the first to seek out the remaining pirate lords, and he would not be the last. Swiftpaw had released hundreds of pirates from Salamandastron, and for every one of them who returned to an old pirate haunt to tell the story, hundreds more were sailing now to join her armada. All Captain Julia Burnet had to do was wait.

Her lips parted, baring just the points of her teeth as she smiled. "Welcome to the horde."

* * *

 _The Rosequills, summer  
_

"Belli, ya gotta hold yer sword up or I'll getcha!" Plink poked her stick lightly into the hogmaid's stomach, right under her guard. Maribel squeaked.

"You do it too hard!" she said, laughing. "You can't do it that hard, okay?"

Plink heaved a long-suffering sigh and held up her stick at the ready. "Arright then, you come at me an' show me how it's done."

Maribel swung her stick at Plink's side and the rat blocked easily. The hogmaid swung again, this time for Plink's ankles. She hopped over and landed lightly. "You gotta at least _try_ to hit me."

"I am so tryin'!" Maribel squawked, then shrugged. "If I really hit you, you might get hurt…"

Plink smiled and shook her head, but a distant voice from the direction of the house cut her off.

"Maribel!" Plink turned to see Robert standing a short distance away and, harder to see through the late season foliage, Violet leaning out the kitchen door to call a second time. "Maribel! Come on in, dear!"

It was at that moment Plink felt a stick jab into her side. She squeaked and dodged back as Maribel went dashing past, giggling. "Yer a cheater, Belli!" Plink called after her.

Rob shook his head in mock-despair as the little hogmaid raced for the house, though he lowered a paw to brush it over her headspikes as she passed. When she had gone, he turned to Plink, a mild expression on his face. "So! You're teachin' Maribel to fight, now?"

Plink shrugged and dropped her stick. She had a feeling that she was in trouble - a not unfamiliar feeling in the Rosequill house. "S'just a game. She wanted to win at Waverunners an' Pirates when she plays with the others at school..."

"Aye, serious business, that game." Rob nodded sagely, then bent down to pick up the stick Maribel had dropped. It was hard for him, with the still-new peg leg, but he swung upright again and assumed a fighting stance. "Alright then, lass. Let's see what you've got."

Plink snickered at the sight, figuring it was a joke. Robert hadn't so much as glanced at a weapon since they returned to his home a week ago. "I can't fight you. You ain't got all yer parts! It ain't fair!"

"I seem t' remember a certain young lass whose tail ain't exactly in one piece." Rob waved the stick and advanced a step. "Tell me th' truth now, are you scared to cross blades with an old prickledog?"

"Hardly! I just don't want to see ya tip off that chair leg you walk around on!"

"Heh heh heh, then avast!"

Rob lunged for her onto his whole leg, and Plink barely darted out of the way before the stick could jab her in the belly. Laughing, she darted around him as he was recovering and snatched up her stick from where she'd dropped it. "Yarr!"

Despite having just the one leg, Robert easily parried and riposted, tapping the end of his stick to the front of Plink's sailor coat. She gaped at him, disbelieving. "How'd you do that?"

Robert smiled and directed her eyes to his footpaw and the peg where it dug slightly into the loam. "Good swordsmanship starts in your footwork. There's plenny o' fancy tricks t' learn, but you cain't expect to win without a strong foundation."

Plink peered up at him, a hopeful half-smile tugging her whiskers askew. "Will you teach me, Mister Robert? Please?"

The hedgehog looked down at her for a beat, his dark eyes shining in the evening light. He settled his paw on her shoulder and fixed her with an earnest look. "Why d'you want to learn? It's safe here, Plink. There ain't anybeast gonna harm you. If this is about those nightmares you been havin'-"

"It's not," she said, her smile flown.

"Plink, is there sommat you ain't tellin' me?"

Plink let out a breath and shrugged his paw away, tossing her stick aside once more. "It ain't any one thing, just… beasts are on edge around me. Sometimes there's this second where they think I'm a big mouse, an' they're so kind an' civil… but quicker an' quicker they work it out, what I really am." She frowned up at Robert. "I know Admiral Swiftpaw made his decree an' vermin are supposed to be welcome in Hearth but sometimes, I think it's just Maribel that keeps me from bein' kicked outta places."

Robert shook his head sadly. "If there's beasts givin' you trouble, you know you only have to tell me, don't you? I'll set 'em straight."

Plink scowled. "I don't want you havin' to protect me! You can't go 'round tellin' the whole world I ain't all bad!"

"Why not?" he asked with a smile, but Plink refused to accept the joke.

"'Cause you can't be everywhere, an' you can't talk to everybeast before they meet me! Beasts travel on these roads all the time, a good reputation ain't gonna save me from some rovin' do-gooder Long Patroller!"

Robert watched her for a long moment, his expression somber. "If I teach you, it ain't for fun an' games. It's war, an' you only ever use it to protect yourself, an' them as cain't protect themselves. Understand?"

Plink nodded at once. "I'm ready."

They practiced until the sun began to edge toward the horizon and Violet called again, this time to announce dinner. Even though her paws were raw and her shoulders ached, Plink grumbled as they made their way in. Robert chuckled and patted her on the back. His paw had a pleasant weight that shifted with his uneven stride. It made Plink smile despite herself.

The smells of fresh bread and vegetable stew filled the kitchen thick as steam. Violet stood by the stove, reaching around her large belly to fill a tureen for the table. Robert offered to carry it for her and Plink took advantage of their distraction to snatch a bit of diced white cheese from a serving dish. It melted in her mouth, bright and salty, and she almost took another piece, but Violet was watching her. She was still smiling at Robert, but something in her look made Plink hide her paw behind her back.

"Would you mind carrying that in to the table, dear?" Violet asked with a measure of sweetness.

"Er- aye!" Certain now that she'd been caught, Plink grabbed the dish and fled.

Maribel's singing drifted in from the next room where she was laying out utensils around five place settings, one of which was already occupied. Plink set down the cheese and sat across the table from the big otter.

"Hoy Chak. I didn't know you were back."

"Hoy there, little mate!" He scratched his muzzle with his thumbclaw, still grinning at the singing hogmaid. "Aye, just got back. Didn' want ta disturb yer stick fightin' or naught, so Maribel here were keepin' me occupied with her fine singin'."

Plink glanced between them and fixed a smile on her face, but she watched Chak from the corner of her eye. She knew he was good, now. She knew he had made it possible for the slaves to escape, and that he was doing everything he could think of to right his past wrongs.

But her mother had always said there were some stains that did not wash out, and over the past few weeks that Plink had spent around Chak, she often found herself thinking of her own stains. She could not wait for him to leave for good.

After what seemed like an eternity, Violet and Robert came in with the stew, and the meal commenced. Everybeast chatted pleasantly, mostly about Chak's new ship, and Plink let her brooding rest, all but burying her snout in her bowl. At length, though, her belly filled and she had to ask.

"So, since ya got a ship now, does that mean yer leavin' soon?" She tried to make the question sound casual, but it still cut into the current discussion of the pros and cons of schooners.

Chak's eyebrows hitched slightly, but he cleared his throat with a game smile. "Aye! Since the sale be finalized this mornin', I spent most o' today makin' ready fer me voyage. We ought ter be ready ter make way when the tide turns tomorrow afternoon."

"Seems mighty soon," Robert said with a smile. "You know you're always welcome to stay on here long as you like."

Plink bit her tongue and used her spoon to mash a potato into the congealing broth at the bottom of her bowl.

"I thank ye, mate, but nay. It's a big task ahead o' me. Best I be gettin' on with it 'fore the season's out."

The meal ended and Plink volunteered to help Violet and Maribel with the dishes instead of following Robert and Chak out onto the porch where they always sat as evening came on. She had often joined them over the past week, but their silences made her wonder what they would be saying if she was not there.

No, Plink figured, better to dry the hot plates and bowls as Violet passed them to her and then stack them cautiously, no matter how their fragile clatter made her hackles rise. Tomorrow, Chak would leave for his excursion and Plink's new life could truly begin.

* * *

 _School, fall_

Plink cast a sideways glance at Moira the bankvole, then sat up straighter in her hard chair and folded her paws on the little desk before her. Just like that priss Moira.

Plink was not the best student in class. She still struggled with basic reading despite Rob's coaching through the summer. After the first two weeks of school, though, she had decided that if she copied everything Moira did, eventually she would hit upon the secret to success. So Plink sat in the front row rather than in the middle with Maribel, and she raised her paw sometimes even when she didn't know the answer to the question. She had grown accustomed to the teacher meeting her wild guesses with dry dismissal.

Schoolmistress Briarberry watched over her spectacles as the young beasts took their seats. Her bushy tail flicked behind her occasionally. "Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Mistress Briarberry," Plink chorused with the other students.

"We have new students, today," she said in her stern tone, then waited as three skinny beasts shuffled out of her office. "Berm, Golli, and Heska came all the way here from the country to learn. Let's all welcome them."

"Welcome to Hearth," the students said. Plink remained silent, assessing the weasels just as they assessed her.

The bigger two smiled uncertainly, but the smallest, Heska, had sharp, knowing eyes. After just a moment looking at Plink, he looked away and turned a bright smile and an overdone bow on the class at large. "Thank you, everybeast," he said, and his siblings gamely repeated.

"Why don't you tell us all a bit about yourselves," Mistress Briarberry said. "Where are you from?"

"Oh, we're from here, now," Heska said. "We live with our dad in New Town. He taught us back home before we moved but, now that vermin are welcome in Hearth and he's found work, he thought we should get a proper education."

His eyes flicked back to Plink, then returned to the teacher as she directed the weasels to open seats. Mistress Briarberry immediately launched into her lecture. "Class, as your new fellows have just mentioned, we live in an exciting time for our region. Under the rule of Salamandastron, there has never been a peaceful society of commingled woodlanders and vermin. However, such arrangements have existed elsewhere. Who can tell me the name of one such city?"

Moira raised her paw, but Plink did not hear the answer. The back of her neck itched as if ants had gotten under her fur. That weasel was watching her.

It went on that way all morning, until finally Mistress Briarberry called on Plink to answer a question and, having been only half listening, she stammered, "Er... I ain't sure..."

The squirrel fixed her with a sour look. "Perhaps a more attentive student will be better acquainted with current events. Miss Moira?"

"Ahem, yes ma'am. It was Lord Atlas, in his final moments with Colonel Swiftpaw after slaying Captain Blade, who proclaimed there should be a haven for vermin who could live by the law."

"That's correct, Miss Moira. And what do you think- Yes, Mister Heska?"

Plink stiffened but didn't turn to look like most of the other students as the weasel spoke. "Beg your pardon, but it wasn't Atlas who killed Blade. It was the Halfrat."

The words sliced through Plink's hide like cold rain. She held absolutely still.

"The- excuse me, the Halfrat?" Mistress Briarberry's snout crinkled in distaste. "There is no such thing as a half-rat. Where did you come by such a spectacular misconception?"

"Well," Heska said, sounding a bit uncertain now, "it's what traveling vermin are saying. They say the Halfrat was Captain Blade's lackey, but she turned on him and sunk his ship."

"Nonsense. The Waverunner fleet sunk the _Zephyr_ , Mister Heska."

"If you say so, ma'am. I just hadn't heard it that way before."

Mistress Briarberry went on with her lecture, but Plink only heard it as if from a great distance. Robert had been careful about warning her against talking about the role she had played in Blade's fall. There would be beasts who weren't happy with the way things turned out, and Plink didn't need him to tell her what that would mean for her and her foster family. So she hadn't told anybeast about what she had done.

But that weasel knew who she was, and he knew what she had done. Plink passed the rest of the day in a sick haze, hardly aware of the lesson going on around her.

When school finally ended and Plink and Maribel made it out into the yard, the weasels were loitering in the shade of an oak. Plink tried to lead Maribel hurriedly down the road toward home, but the little hedgehog was busy saying goodbye to her friends. Irritated but unwilling to leave her behind, Plink watched with dismay as Heska and his brothers disengaged from the tree and approached.

"Hello there," he said, smiling his charming smile. "Plink, isn't it?"

Plink glanced past him to where Torby and Ruckles the otter brothers were watching her exchange with judgement in their eyes. She folded her arms tight over her chest. "What d'you want?"

Heska shrugged. "Thought we ought to get to know each other, seein' as we're the only vermin here. But you don't seem so friendly... not with us, anyways." His eyes flicked past her to where Maribel was giggling with another little hedgehog.

Plink sidestepped into his line of sight. "If yer after trouble, yer gonna start it with me, not her. Unnerstand?"

Heska gave her an uncertain look, then smiled coolly. "We don't want trouble. We're just here to expand our horizons and make our dad proud. Just like anybeast."

"I don't think she wants to talk to us, Hesk," one of the bigger weasels said. Plink was fairly sure he was Golli. He watched her with hooded eyes - a shrewd look she'd mistaken before for stupidity. "Think we're embarrassing her in front of her woodlander friends."

Plink scowled as her ears heated. "Quit playin' like I hurt yer feelin's and say whatever it is you want to say to me."

"She thinks she's better than us," the third weasel, Berm said. His snout wrinkled and he glared back at her. "Fat little rat living snug with the goodbeasts, too good to talk to penniless vermin out of New Town. Come on, Heska. Let's get out of here."

Heska glanced up at his brother, then cast Plink a cool look. "We'll let you get back to your friends. Nice meeting you."

The three weasels headed off on the south road and Plink stood watching them go, paws cold against her sides. She startled when Maribel came skipping up next to her, but managed a weak smile for her as they turned to make their own way home. The little hedgehog chattered about something her friend had said, and Plink 'uh huh'ed at the proper moments as her thoughts wandered.

The weasels hadn't called her by her other name, and they hadn't seemed to have any ulterior motives in talking to her. She hadn't gotten the feeling that there was some unsaid meaning beneath their words, either. Perhaps it was a coincidence after all that they mentioned her nickname in class. Whatever it was, though, Plink couldn't just ignore it. She had to do something.

"Belli," she finally said, glancing around the road at the other young beasts making their way home. Her eyes settled on the little hedgehog before her and she hesitated. "You… you could walk home from here, right? We're at least halfway…"

Maribel scratched her snout as if in thought, then smiled. "Yeah! I know how to get home!" Then her brow puckered. "But… aren't you coming home, too?"

"I am, it's just… there's somethin' I gotta do first." Plink glanced around a second time, then squeezed the smaller beast's shoulder and smiled. "Just stay around everybeast else, alright? It ain't far. I'll see you at home by supper."

Leaving Maribel there, Plink scurried off back the way they had come, past the schoolhouse, and hastened down the south road. It took a while to catch up to the weasels, but they were in no hurry. Plink finally rounded a curve only to dart back out of sight when the three brothers appeared ahead. From there, she followed them slowly, always staying out of sight through the clinging yellow leaves and listening to their indistinct voices.

She followed them along the southernmost edge of Hearth and beyond, into the ramshackle village Admiral Swiftpaw was building for law-abiding vermin. Plink had never been there before, and she grew warier as she ventured deeper, her eyes darting to the shadows and refuse crowded in alleys between the narrow wooden houses. This place was not like Hearth, not even the poorer sections of Hearth. Something about it set Plink's hackles on edge.

The weasels hastened past a bustling tavern where a pair of drunken rats hollered at them from the stoop, then turned down a narrow side street. Plink dodged down an alley to avoid the tavern and came out at the backs of the houses, where the established part of New Town butted up against the new houses still under construction. They stood like giant skeletons in the evening gloom.

The weasels did not emerge from the street they had turned down, so Plink warily peered around the last house on the block. She spied them climbing a raw wood stair up to a second story apartment and watched them disappear inside. Plink wanted to climb up and peek through their window, but darkness was setting in and the noises from the tavern up the street unsettled her. Satisfied that she knew where they lived, the rat left New Town and hurried home.

Robert was waiting for her on the porch, whittling a small piece of wood by the light of a lantern. He raised his eyes to glance at her as she climbed the steps, then looked back at the work in his paws. "Nice of you t' join us," he said lightly. "You missed dinner."

Plink hesitated before the door, a strong feeling warning her that she should not go inside. She turned to Robert instead. "It took longer than I expected… the thing I had to do."

"Aye," he said, blowing away curls of wood. "Oft times happens that it does."

"It was important."

"Always seems that way."

Plink eyed him, then eyed the shut door. "I didn't do anythin' bad."

"Never thought you did, lass. But you're still in hot water," he said, raising his eyes again, "just so you know."

"'Cause I left Maribel alone."

Robert lowered the piece of wood to the arm of his chair and gave her his full attention. "Aye - that, an' you disappeared without tellin' us where you were goin'. You cain't be doin' that, Plink. You scared the daylights outta Violet."

Plink frowned, guilt and resentment two battling vipers within her. "I ain't a child," she said at last. "I can look after myself."

Robert raised a paw to stop her, gently shaking his head. "It ain't about that, but we'll talk about it in the mornin'. Right now, I'm hopin' you can get in your bed without wakin' Violet or the baby, 'cause spirits help you if rouse either one of 'em."

Plink wanted to argue, but she swallowed back the urge and nodded. There was no point in arguing with Robert when it was Violet she had to face.

She crept inside and into the bedroom she shared with Maribel. The hogmaid was sound asleep in her cot, and Plink climbed quietly into her own bed, nestling down in a tangle of anxieties - about Violet, about the weasels, about New Town. She had a terrible feeling that the peaceful place she had settled into was shrinking around her, crumbling into a familiar chaotic sea in the way of a sinking ship.

For a time, her head buzzed, but Maribel's soft snuffling persisted like waves on a shore. Plink turned her head to look at where the starlight spilling through the open curtains glinted off her headspikes.

A part of her envied Maribel's untroubled sleep. A part of Plink bitterly resented that this little beast didn't know what it was to cringe at every noise through the night, or to rise with no warm embrace awaiting her. Maribel would never know how it felt to have hunger carve a cruel hole in her heart. She would never need to know how to fight, really fight with her teeth and claws and desperation just to survive.

Yet for every jealous breath Plink drew in, there was a stinging sweet exhale. Maribel would never know those things, and she would remain the soft, sweet creature she was - and Plink was glad for it. Maribel's goodness cut to her heart, a familiar and long-missed virtue. Plink laid on her cot watching moon-limned quills rise and fall gently, and she sank into soft dreams of flowered dresses and homemade jackets, and a scent hovering on the edge of memory.

So even though, in the following weeks, the weasels excelled in their studies while Plink still struggled, and even though they swiftly developed an easy bantering friendship with Torby and Ruckles, the otter brothers who had given Plink such a hard time in her first weeks, and even though she snuck out every night to follow the weasels home and watch them through their window, Plink did not hate them, not really. She watched them laugh together as they kicked leaves in the road, and she watched from outside the glass as their weary father smiled and cut the last piece of their meat into thirds rather than quarters. Plink watched the weasel brothers work their way into the world of goodbeasts and fit tidily into place, and it filled her with a rare hope that warmed even as it stung.

It was shortly after the harvest moon when the weasels stopped coming to school. Plink found their apartment empty and dark that night, and every night thereafter. She visited the alley every day for a week, listening to the roar of the tavern down the street and trying to peer through the dark glass to whatever secrets were hidden inside. All she could make out was a chair laying on its side.

When Plink left the alley on the final night, she did not sneak by the back way in an attempt to go unseen. She walked toward the tavern and the drunk searats sitting out on the stoop, and when they laughingly told her what had happened to the weasel family, Plink felt the cobbled street quake like an exploding ship beneath her footpaws.

"Aw, layoff 'er," one of the rats slurred, slugging the shoulder of the guffawing beast at his side. "She ain't naught but a young 'un. It's alright, lassie, your mates ain't all dead."

Plink closed her paws into fists and bared her teeth. "It ain't alright," she spat as she turned to stalk away, "an' I ain't gonna let it end like this."

The searats called after her but Plink did not stop, and she did not look back. She felt like a fish on a line being dragged toward something terrible and beyond her comprehension.

Only days later, when she finally managed to sneak into the workhouse where all the orphaned vermin of New Town were taken and convinced the weasel brothers to tell her exactly what had happened to their father, Plink began to see the shape of what she had to do, looming massive as the _Zephyr_ before her.

* * *

 _Vera, winter_

Plink found the inn outside of a small town nestled in a valley up north. It was an old stone block construction overlooking a meadow where willowy grass glistened in the frosty morning light. After the long, cold night, the yellow glow of a window toward the rear of the building was so welcoming, Plink hefted her pack and bypassed the front door entirely.

With her breath fogging the glass, she peeked through and spied just what she was looking for. There was the vixen, her sleeves rolled past her elbows the way she had always worn them in the kitchens of the Dead Rock, energetically kneading a ball of dough. Unlike in the Dead Rock, though, the corners of her mouth were turned up and her ears were pricked forward in contented focus.

It was arresting, that difference in demeanor - because it meant everything. It made Plink wonder what was wrong with herself, that she couldn't just be happy that way.

Vera settled her loaf on a tray and painted on some yellow oil with quick strokes. For a moment she was still, glancing about the counter as if she had lost something, and then she turned abruptly toward the knife she'd left on the table - and, beyond it, the beady eyes watching her through the steamed glass.

Vera yelped and Plink stumbled back from the window, alarmed despite herself. She gulped back the urge to hide and stood up straight as the kitchen door swung open. Vera poked her head out warily. Spotting Plink, she relaxed a measure.

"Would you like to come in and sit by the oven? The dining room isn't open yet, but you can warm up while you wait."

Realizing Vera hadn't recognized her, Plink opened her mouth to announce herself, but her voice came out a hoarse squeak. She coughed and felt her ears go hot under her cap. Vera smiled kindly.

"And maybe a hot cup of tea, as well."

"Curse it, Vera, don't you remember me?"

The vixen froze for an instant, wide-eyed. "Plink?" Her smile returned, warmer than before and she rushed out to sweep the adolescent rat into a hug and hustle her inside at the same time. "You look so grown-up! And that hat and scarf are so nice - did Violet make those for you? Oh, why didn't you write to tell me you were coming?"

"She did," Plink hedged. "Missus Violet. She likes knitting, when she has time fer it." She tugged one tasseled end of her scarf, shoulders hunching as the old guilt resurged over the undeserved gift. "She even let me pick the colors."

"Well, they look good together. You've got an eye for color." Vera steered her to the chair nearest the iron stove, and Plink quickly found her pack set aside and a hot cup of tea pressed into her paw. The steam tickled her nose, smelling bright with citrus and clove.

Vera put her bread in the oven and took the other chair, brushing flour onto her apron as she sat. "You've gotten so tall! No wonder I didn't recognize you - you look nothing like the scruffy kid I remember from the island."

"Steady meals. I hardly recognize myself, sometimes," Plink shrugged, scratching at the sleek fur that covered her full cheek before straightening. "Yer lookin' good, too, Vera. Happy."

Vera smiled and sipped her tea. "I'm glad to get back to the life I was used to. I missed the peace of it."

"How's yer friend?"

"Hylan," Vera grinned. "He's doing well, cleaning out my cookie jar every time he's in the area. Speaking of which…" She reached into a cupboard nearby and withdrew a ceramic canister. When she popped out the cork-lined top, an odor of walnuts and candied berries drifted out. "Would you like a cookie?"

Plink snatched one and sank her teeth in with relish. Violet would never approve of cookies this early in the day, and that only made it taste that much better. Vera gave her a second cookie, then nibbled on one of her own. "So, are you in school?"

Plink nodded and swallowed her cookie before speaking. "I spent all last season learnin' readin' an' sums with the kids in the village."

"Did you make any friends?"

The rat snorted. "Not bleedin' likely!" Violet would have had a thing or two to say about that swear, too. It lingered in Plink's mouth, delicious.

Vera nibbled her cookie, unimpressed. "Why not? If you want to fit in, making friends is a good way to go about it."

Plink glared at her tea, then at Vera. "I ain't so sure I wanna fit in with them - or if I even could, if I did. Those kids don't know me. They don't know anything." She turned her eyes back to the tea, watching the steam rise and vanish. "I done things they can't even imagine… an' I'm just the rat in class to them. Belli's vermin friend. When they played Waverunners an' Pirates, they wanted me to be the villain an'…" Plink grimaced, peeling her paw away from the hot ceramic. "I can't play pirates anymore."

"Of course not. You're growing up." Vera leaned forward onto her elbows. "Playing games is what kids do as they're coming to understand the world. You know too much now to go back to that."

"I know, but…" Plink looked at Vera, trying hard not to let her desperation show. "What am I s'posed to do now?"

"Enjoy having a family that cares about you. Take life one step at a time."

"I tried, Vera, but..." Plink heaved a breath and curled her claws against her scalp. "It's too late fer that now."

"With the Rosequills? I'm sure that's not true." Vera tipped her muzzle slightly to one side, venturing a smile. "Whatever's wrong, I'll bet talking about it will help."

Plink hesitated, a mountain of secrets pressing her shoulders to a slump and her chapped paws twisting in her lap. The truth of what she fled burned deep in her throat, but she swallowed it back. If Vera found out what Plink had done, there would be no more tea or cookies or warm talks by the fire. A murderer did not deserve such kindness.

"It- It's Violet," she said, licking her lips to help the half-truth come out easier. "She's always on my back about what I'm doin' wrong. Every liddle thing. Swearin' an' stayin' out late an' messin' up my clothes - my own clothes! It ain't like I don't do the wash when she asks, it's just sometimes I've gotta... There's things that're more important than her stupid doilies!"

Vera furrowed her brow. "Have you told Violet about them?"

"What? Who?"

"The important things." The vixen folded her paws around her teacup carefully. "It can be hard to understand where someone else is coming from when tensions are flying high. I'm sure Violet made those rules to help keep you and her other kids safe."

Plink blinked, then sneered. "Maribel and Berta are safe. You think I don't make sure they're safe? Violet just wants to keep me under control. She can't protect me anyway, an' neither can Robert! I ain't even their kid! I don't _belong_ -"

Plink's face twisted up and the tears rushed out. She covered them with her paws, hot-eared under Vera's eyes.

There was a rustle, and then strange arms closed around her. It wasn't like Robert's hugs, big and soft and warm. Vera's arms were longer and harder, and her hug was more bracing than comforting. Plink leaned into it for a moment as her breathing steadied and the tears faded away. When Vera withdrew and offered her a handkerchief, she took it without comment.

There was a long pause as Plink dried her face and Vera bit her lip. "Plink, I hate to ask this, but does Robert know you're here?"

"No, an' he can't know. Nobeast can know."

"Plink…"

The rat snapped upright, glaring. "Please, Vera. If you really are my friend an' you meant what you said on the _Phantom_ that day, don't tell anybeast I was here."

Vera blinked, stunned by her intensity. At length, though, she nodded. "Alright. If you think it's necessary, I won't argue with you…"

Plink waited with her mouth twisted bitterly, knowing there was more. She knew Vera wanted to say that her foster family had to be scared for her, not knowing where she'd gone or for how long. The guilt gnawed at her the way Plink would gnaw a bone.

"You know," Vera said eventually, "I was about your age when I left home."

Plink gaped up at her. The vixen smiled faintly and refilled the teacups.

"It took me a long time to get on my feet. I couldn't have done it at all without help from my friends." She settled the freshly steaming cup before Plink's paws on the table and met her eyes meaningfully. "I am your friend, Plink, and I want to help you however I can. If that means giving you a break from the Rosequills, then that's alright by me. Would you like to stay here for a while?"

Plink touched the cup with shaking claws, not really feeling the burn from the hot ceramic. She didn't look away from Vera's waiting stare. "Yes," she choked out. "Yes, please."

Plink settled quietly into work at the inn, helping out in the kitchen or running errands to the nearby town as needed. She picked up tasks before being told to do them, and spoke little unless spoken to.

The winter grew long and heavy with snow, and the days became so gloomy that Plink nearly forgot the feel of the sun. Even when the thaw came and snowdrops began pressing up out of the sodden earth behind the inn, her spirit felt leaden. Winter was ending. The long-frozen land was breaking open in preparation for another big push. Plink felt it in her marrow, and she dreaded the spring to come.

During one of the last cold spells, a group of travel-worn vermin came to stay in the inn. Plink caught a glimpse of them sitting in the common room through the swinging kitchen door and nearly dropped the tray of mugs she carried. She passed off her tray to another server, stammering some excuse about feeling ill, which she forgot as soon as it was out of her mouth. Then, she ran.

Plink rushed to Vera's apartment off the kitchen and began to jam her scant possessions into her sack. She would slip out the back door as if she was going to town. Vera would wave her usual goodbye and be none the wiser until Plink just didn't come back, which was for the best really. There was no time for notes or explanations. Besides, the less Vera knew, the safer she would be.

"What are you doing?"

Plink spun around, the dagger already raised in her paw. From the doorway, Vera lifted an eyebrow. The blade shuddered in Plink's paw until she lowered it to her side and looked away, shame-faced. "I… I was just gonna go to town… fer… onions."

Vera folded her arms before her and, with her heel, shut the door behind her. "And that's just the knife you mean to chop them with?"

Plink fumbled to return the dagger to its hiding place in her vest. "Vera-"

Vera interrupted gently. "Do you know those beasts?"

"No… not exactly…" Plink glanced at the door, then at the window behind her, shut against the cold air. She let out a sigh and looked back at Vera. "One of 'em was wearing a New Town police badge."

Vera crossed the room and settled into the chair next to the wardrobe. "Hearth is a long way from here. Why would a town policebeast follow you this far, Plink?"

Plink scowled at the floor. "Because I'm a criminal. Obviously."

"You're not a criminal, Plink. You're-"

"I'm what? Just a kid? That doesn't change any of what I've done." Plink glared at Vera for a silent moment, then snatched up her jacket from the bed. It was a special jacket, the one Robert and Violet had encouraged her to make for herself after she outgrew her sailor's coat early in the fall. The hems were puckered and the lining pulled the shoulders askew, but Plink had sewn three hearts into the nape and was determined to wear it until it fell apart.

Now, she couldn't bear the thought of shrugging into it, no matter how cold it was. Those hearts would chafe the back of her neck relentlessly, even if she couldn't really feel them. She jammed the jacket into her bag and yanked the drawstring tight.

"I was going to say that you aren't a criminal," Vera said quietly to her back, "because criminals don't care when they do the wrong thing. Plink, whatever happened, I'm sure your heart was in the right place."

The rat's paws stilled on her pack and she fixed her eyes on the bedspread. It was a quilt of mismatched patches, scraps of old clothing in a hundred fabrics, all the colors faded to similar gray shades. "I meant well when I killed all those beasts on the _Zephyr_ , too."

Vera was silent for a strangled moment. "That was a war, Plink. It was different."

"That's what Robert always says. Things are different in a war." Plink turned around and met Vera's eye, scowling. "But it ain't that different, Vera. Blowin' beasts up in a battle ain't any better than what I did in New Town. I ended lives, just the same."

Vera's face registered shock for an instant before she shook her head. "If you'll just tell me what happened, I'm sure you had a reason for… whatever you did."

Plink opened her mouth to tell her that it didn't matter if she had a reason, it didn't change anything. "There was this family of weasels," she found herself saying instead.

Vera listened intently, the furrow in her brow deepening as Plink came to the point.

"They told me their da got killed because he refused to pay the police fer protection. An' then I found out the workhouse they got sent to - where all the vermin orphans get sent - was owned by this stoat who made big donations to the police force."

Vera raised a paw to cover her mouth, horrified. "Did you go to the law in Hearth?"

"If the Marshals came marchin' into New Town, it'd look like an invasion to every vermin there, even the ones who were tryin' to live honest lives. Then it really would be a war." Plink squared her jaw resolutely. "It was a vermin problem. Vermin had to fix it."

Vera sat very still in her chair, watching her.

Plink paced the space at the foot of the bed, rattled by her silence. Through it, she could hear noise drift in from kitchen, pots clattering into the sink. "Somebeast had to teach those dirty police a lesson or they were just gonna keep murderin' beasts. So I followed a lot of 'em home an' did stuff to scare 'em. Writin' on their walls or trashin' their stuff. I got a few arrested in Hearth - framed 'em fer doin' things I did or watched other beasts do. Sometimes that was enough. A lot of the policebeasts didn't really want to do what they were doin', anyways. But some of the ones in charge, they just got mad an' punished somebeast else fer what I did to 'em. So… then I had to do more."

Vera's silence stretched on, and when Plink looked up she found the vixen watching her with a measure of trepidation. The rat looked away and finally settled on the edge of the bed, wringing her paws in her lap.

"After what I did to the _Zephyr_ , I didn't want to cause anybeast to suffer ever again. I wanted to be good an' live a decent life. But I ain't a goodbeast, not like Violet an' Maribel an' Robert." Plink cleared her throat and rushed on. "I know I ain't good, 'cause when I finally cornered that police chief, it didn't even cross my mind to tell him to get outta town. I looked in his eyes, an' the only thing I could see was Blade, all over again, glarin' back at me. So I killed him."

The noise of the nearby kitchen seemed to still. Plink looked down at her paws and consciously stopped their washing motion.

"I burned that workhouse to the ground and killed the stoat who owned it, too. Fer those weasels, an' their da. At least this way, they got a chance to go to school an' be real goodbeasts. Not… villains like me."

She sat very still, feeling now like a wrung-out rag, and listened to the soothing kitchen sounds. Finally, Vera drew a great breath, digging her claws slowly through her headfur and down the back of one dark ear. With her snout pointed down, she flicked her concerned eyes back to Plink. "Don't say that. You aren't a villain. But I imagine you are in a real heap of trouble, and running away before you got hurt was probably the smart thing to do. The police… don't know about you living with the Rosequills, do they?"

"No!" Plink dug her claws into her sides under her elbows. "Fer a while, I had 'em all convinced they were bein' haunted by a ghost. But they worked it out eventually, an' once they figured out who I was, I knew it was just a matter of time before they figured out who I was livin' with. So I left an' I was hopin' they'd just ferget me, but…"

"Wait, what do you mean, they figured out who you were? How would that lead them to Robert?"

"It's nothin'," Plink shrugged, not looking at her. "Just vermin tellin' stories about Blade gettin' killed. I'm in 'em sometimes. An' if beasts remember me bein' there, an' can guess at what I did, might be they'll remember who I rowed off with, too. There ain't that many one-legged hedgehog Waverunners."

Vera nodded, but watched Plink closely. "You don't have to leave, you know. You can just lie low until those New Towners leave. They might not even be looking for you."

"I… I know yer right, but I think I still have to go." Plink opened her mouth to go on, but then stood and shouldered her bag instead.

"Why?" Vera's chair creaked as she leaned forward. "You're safe here. What's the rush?"

"It ain't just about me. It's those orphans." Plink finally looked back at her friend, and a weight settled into place in her chest. "I've been thinkin' about it a long time now, how I just left all those kids to fend fer themselves. At the time, I figured they'd be better off without some murderer watchin' over 'em. This whole time I've lived here with you, safe an' with a full belly... Vera, I'm so ashamed. I jumped at the first excuse to leave."

"And you think you can just roll back into town and help them?" Vera stood in a rush. "If the police are still looking for you, you could get those kids in even more trouble. Not to mention yourself."

Plink scowled, pulling her bag tighter to her back until the strap dug hard into her shoulder. "You're right. But if I'm gonna help 'em, I can't do it from here. I have to be in New Town."

"What are you even going to do?"

"I have some wages saved. I can buy 'em food, maybe find a place to stay."

"I know what Herrod pays you, Plink. You can't possibly have enough to last long."

"No," she snapped, "but I'll figure somethin' out."

The vixen drew a deep breath and patted the air in a calming gesture before squeezing Plink's shoulder. "I'm sure you will, but you can at least go in with some kind of plan. You don't have to rush off right now without thinking it through."

The young rat looked up at her friend and her frown faded. She covered the paw on her shoulder with her own. "Vera, this is my responsibility. I've been hidin' from it an' thinkin' about it fer the better part of a season now. A few hours or a few days ain't gonna make things any clearer."

"I could help you. I'm sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with something."

Plink grinned, but it didn't quite conceal her discomfort as she shrugged out from under Vera's paw. "What, an' let you get tangled up in my mess? You've already done so much fer me, Vera. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Then at least take this," Vera sighed, pulling a hidden pouch from behind her apron. When Plink took it, the contents jingled under her claws. Vera waved her away when she tried to pass it back. "Don't argue. It's nothing next to what you're going to need."

Plink nodded finally and stuffed the pouch deep into her bag. Vera led her through the kitchen and out onto the back stoop. The air was cold still, but the late afternoon sun beamed through the naked branches, gleaming orange off the raw wet ground.

Plink took two steps away, then turned back to throw a hard hug around Vera's waist. After a startled instant, the vixen's arms came up around her.

"Be careful," Vera said as Plink began pulling away. "And come back to visit sometime."

"When it's safe," the rat said, trying to put conviction in the promise even though she doubted such a day could ever come.

* * *

 _Salamandastron, spring_

The mountain fortress was easier to sneak into than Plink had expected. The guards were uninspired and ran their patrols like clockwork, and it was only a matter of waiting for the proper moment to dodge past them and up a gentler slope toward an open window.

Plink found the tunnels within more unnerving by far. With her first few carefully padded steps, she wondered if she had somehow slipped back into one of her dreams. Perhaps in an instant, she would begin running the endless stone passages toward some unknown but desperately important goal. She almost expected to hear a macaw scream somewhere behind her. The moment passed quickly, though, and Plink went about her mission. The tunnels of Salamandastron, were well-lit and wide. The stairs were carved stone rather than wooden constructions, and the walls were lined in grand tapestries detailing the deeds of various badger lords. It was unnerving in a way wholly different from the Dead Rock.

She dodged past a room where a pawful of Long Patrol hares were engaged in a card game and found herself in a room of cells. It seemed promising but it swiftly became evident that the beast she was searching for couldn't be there; despite the size of the dungeon, all the cells were empty.

At last, much nearer to the top of the mountain, she found a workshop. The long benches were loaded with notes and gears and steel instruments, and amongst them, scratching his head, stood a middle-aged weasel.

Plink didn't recognize him, but she spoke the name Vera had told her in idle conversation so many weeks ago.

"Rindclaw?"

The weasel looked at her with a start, then at the empty doorway behind her. "Hello… Do I know you?"

"No," Plink said, stepping closer. "We've never met. Yer… Tooley's da, then?"

Rindclaw seemed to want to back away toward the workshop's second door, but at his son's name he took a limping step forward instead. He peered at Plink as if trying to make out something at a distance. "Aye. You knew my son?"

"I… He was my friend."

Guilt and shame bubbled up in her chest like a physical illness as she remembered the last time she had seen Tooley, the things she had said. Plink swallowed it all back and dug a heavy bag from inside her vest. The coins it contained - coins from countless places - rattled together as she dropped the bag on the bench before her.

"This was his. I got it back from somebeast who stole it, meanin' to get it back to Tooley but… and then I was keepin' it fer, y'know, fer remembrance… but I just can't keep it anymore. So I thought maybe you'd like to have it."

Despite her words, Plink found her claws still rolling the corded drawstring in a soothing rhythm she had developed since her return to Hearth. She jerked her paw away.

Rindclaw limped the length of the room and tugged open the bag to peer inside. His shoulders slumped as if he did not find anything worth having. "It was kind of you to bring me this," he said dully. "I'm afraid I haven't got much use for money, though."

Plink's eyes darted to the bag and back to him. "If you don't want it, sir, then maybe you wouldn't mind if I used it. There're hungry beasts I know would appreciate it. I think… I think Tooley'd like that."

Rindclaw pushed the bag along the bench toward her. "Aye, no doubt he would."

Plink reached for the bag, her head a jumble of numbers and market prices. She knew exactly how much was in the bag, because she had counted it a dozen times since her savings and Vera's gift had run out. With summer coming on soon, she could afford fresh vegetables every day and still stretch the money in that bag through the fall.

A hair shy of grabbing it, though, she stopped. Rindclaw was turning to go back to his task, his stride shorter than before, his limp more pronounced.

"How d'you stand it here?"

Rindclaw stopped to look back at her and Plink, surprised by her own words, shrugged and went on. "It reminds me of the Dead Rock. You ain't under guard or anythin'… Don't you wanna leave?"

"I could leave," the weasel said on a drawn-out breath. "There's nothing out there for me, though. At least here, I'm out of reach for anybeast who takes a notion to use what I know to recreate Blade's weapons."

Plink frowned. "I guess that's true enough. If yer half the goodbeast Tooley was, though, it's a waste fer you to be hidin' away in here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that there's a world of vermin who need help, an' you can stay here doin'-" She glanced around sourly. "-whatever it is yer doin', or you could go out an' do some good fer beasts who need it."

Rindclaw eyed her levelly but his tone was offhand. "Are you so sure you want me along with you? Burnet or one of those others might come looking for a smith to build 'em an arsenal."

Plink hesitated at the wildcat's name. She had not thought of Captain Burnet in months, but now the look on her feline face as she cut down one pirate after another returned, bloody and ecstatic. Plink swallowed. "It's up to you, but fer myself, I ain't gonna hide under a rock just because I know beasts like Burnet are out there and might want to get their claws on me."

"I don't much worry about keepin' my hide in one piece of late," the weasel said, and his dry tone made Plink's ears burn. Rindclaw paused a moment and peered about his workshop, taking it all in as if it were a scene of desolation. "I came here because, with my son gone and Blade finished, there was nothing left for me to live for. Fred - the Admiral, I mean, that hare has a keen eye for a beast who's lost his moorings. A kind act, him offering me sanctuary, and he's been generous with his time despite the promotion, visitin' every week. Still, sometimes I just..." His gaze settled on Plink, and she felt small and young under his eyes. At last Rindclaw sighed and picked up a tangled measuring tape to slowly wrap round his paw.

Plink shuffled from paw to paw and glanced at the bag and the door behind her. She couldn't just leave though, not with Tooley's father hanging his head that way. She licked her lips. "I know this kid. He keeps talkin' about quittin' school an' gettin' a job, but all his ideas are bone-headed. Dock work or portin' or drudgin' - but he's so much smarter than that. Can read an' do numbers in his head even. I keep tellin' him he needs to find some smart beast to work for. Learn a trade."

Rindclaw frowned up at her sharply, a raw edge in his voice. "I've had my fair share of failed apprenticeships. Why should your friend be any different?"

"Berm ain't my friend," Plink snapped, then shrugged, "Not exactly. The point is, he's hard-headed an' he's got two younger brothers to look after. He ain't gonna back outta any job he can get. All he needs is a chance to do somethin' worthwhile."

The weasel blinked and, slowly, tucked the measuring tape into the deep pocket of his tunic. Abruptly, he chuckled and shook his greying head. "I don't even know why I'm considerin' it. I'd need a forge to work before I could teach anybeast anything."

Silence stretched in the workshop, broken finally by the tinkle of coins as Plink slid the bag off the bench and held it up by the taut strings. "Whatever you need, I think you can afford it."

* * *

 _The Rosequills, summer_

The heat of the day had passed and a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves so that sunlight dappled the road in winks and diamonds. Plink walked the last stretch toward the village slowly, savoring the cool forest air before she stepped out into the bold light of the clearing. From a distance, she could see the two little hedgehogs playing in the shady grass in front of their cottage, the bigger one leading the smaller round in a game of chase. No sooner had she spotted them than they spotted her.

"Plink!" Maribel leapt around her little sister and darted down the walk. Berta stood momentarily perplexed, then scampered after her. Plink flinched as the dibbun stumbled on a root butting up out of the packed dirt walk, but she scuttled over it, shouting at the top of her impressive little lungs.

"Pink! Pink!"

"Hey Belli!" Plink stopped to let Maribel collide with her in a hug. Forgetting herself, she pricked her own arms wrapping them around the hogmaid's back. She sucked in a breath but didn't let go right away. "Ooh, yer gettin' so tall!"

"That's what Uncle Chak said, too!" Maribel danced back, but kept ahold of Plink's paw, tugging her forward. "He said he almost mistook me for mum! But I think he was just being silly, 'cause I'm not near as tall as her."

"Beat me here, did he?" Plink said the words under her breath, then let the thought go as Berta accosted her with her own stubby-armed hug. She squeezed the dibbun back and, once the hug was complete, Berta stepped clear, paws akimbo and a severe look wrinkling her fuzzy brow.

"Pink! Wherra you been? We were wurruhed _sick_."

Plink grinned. They were Violet's words from months ago, sucked up and repurposed by the dibbun until memory of the anger and tension of that first return had faded. "I was workin', Bert Bossy-breeches."

"S'no excuse! Now you come in dis house an' eat yous some pie right dis minnit!"

"No, not pie," Plink said, half-whining and half-laughing as she let herself be dragged by Berta on one paw and Maribel on the other. "Anythin' but pie!"

They marched her up the steps, across the wide front porch, and through the open door into the sitting room. The giggling younger beasts didn't pause there, but Plink cast her eyes over the empty armchairs and the dark hearth, drinking in the knickknacks arranged on the shelves and the tidy creases in the curtains. There were toys in the floor and a few books left out on the side tables, a bit of mending tucked beside Violet's armchair cushion, but it all had an air of careful tending. The kitchen through the doorway was bright with sunlight from the open windows and hearty laughter spilled out to fill the rest of the house.

The first thing Plink saw as she was escorted through the doorway was Violet dicing carrots, head hanging as if to conceal the laugh that very obviously had her shoulders quaking. She spotted the children and shot one of the beasts at the table a significant look. "Like a _sponge_ , Chak."

"I hear ye loud an' clear, Missus!"

Berta, forgetting her charge, zeroed in on the peculiar adult behavior. "What's lika sponge, Mama?"

But Violet was already brushing her paws on her apron and pulling Plink into a snug embrace. She smelled of fresh bread and the lavender soap she used for laundry. "It's good to see you, dear."

"You, too," Plink said into her shoulder, remembering how she had once hated the smell of lavender. Her forearm still stung from where Maribel's quills had stuck through her sleeve, but she hugged Violet just as hard.

"You missed lunch, but there's still salad and bread, and I could make you a sandwich if you like..."

"At least let her catch her breath before you start feedin' her, love. Heh heh heh!"

Plink turned from Violet toward Robert's half-clunking steps and found his dark snout wrinkling at her in a fond smile. She hugged him as well, though his arms were not so huge and all-enveloping as they had once been.

"It can't be helped," Violet sniffed. "She's too skinny, must be all that runnin' around the towns."

"I can hear you," Plink said into Robert's shoulder before releasing him to turn a wry look on the hogwife.

Violet only smiled. "Well I'd certainly hope so." She shook her head and held up her paws. "You've got a good home and a good job with that Meraldis even if she is a sour old thing, so why you can't just settle down is beyond me, but I won't keep on about it. Would you like a sandwich?"

Plink assented and as Violet turned away, her eye was drawn to the big beast rising up from his chair at the table. Her ears heated with self-awareness as she remembered he'd been watching this whole time, and her smile was lopsided as she greeted him. "Hullo, Chak. Haven't seen you fer a few seasons."

The sea otter grinned under his whiskers. "Ahoy there, cully! I were just thinkin' that vury thing, meself. Last time I laid eyes on ye, ye weren't no taller than this." He waved a paw about the level of his belt. "An' now ye've shot up like a blee- a blinkin' weed! What're ye doin' with yerself these days?"

Plink shrugged. "I board with a seamstress an' do some delivery work for her."

"Heh heh heh, 'some delivery work,' is it?" Robert shook his head and patted her on the back. "Meraldis owns the most productive shop in Hearth, with somethin' like twenty seamstresses on staff. Plink here hauls clothes to shops all over, sometimes even far as Newtrock Ferry."

Chak raised his bushy brows. "Sounds like mighty important work."

Plink managed a smile, but she couldn't meet the otter's eye. That wasn't important work. It wasn't even true, not entirely. While she did board with Meraldis above the shrew's shop, which was just as productive as Robert had said, Plink wouldn't make a delivery for any amount of coin. There were still beasts on the lookout for a rat with a shortened tail, and carrying the shop's wares around would be like etching her infamous nickname on the mailbox. And Plink did not want to have to move again; sour or not, Meraldis told the best stories about her days as a part of the guerrilla coast guard.

Instead, Plink spent her mornings keeping the shop tidy and practicing her needlework on projects Meraldis deemed acceptable for her 'coarse skill set'. Her afternoons, she was free to work or travel the city as she pleased, which allowed her to visit the many households and businesses where she had found homes and jobs for the kids.

But it was better if Robert and Violet didn't know about the real reason that took Plink all over the city and surrounding countryside. They would understand, of course, and therein lay the problem; they would want to help. Plink couldn't allow that. She looked up at Robert, who was chortling over something Chak had said, and smiled. She would die before she let them get tangled up in shady business.

At just that moment, Maribel came bouncing across the kitchen, bright-eyed and hopeful, and Plink let herself be spirited away to hear the hogmaid's latest song. Songs became games and the sun sank low in the sky before the evening meal rolled around. Plink sat beside Berta at the table, encouraging her to pull faces and show off mouthfuls of half-chewed food whenever Violet wasn't looking. Then, the little ones were bustled off to bed and Plink found herself sitting on the front porch with Robert and Chak, watching moths dance around the lantern as they chatted about Chak's journey, near-finished at last. Plink remained silent, enjoying the story and watching long shadows play across the other beasts' faces by the low yellow light.

Despite the hard work he put in on his fishing boat, Robert had grown fatter and his smiles came easier. By contrast, Chak looked worn from his travels. Worry had etched itself into his brow and there were grey whiskers about his muzzle that Plink had not noticed before. Still, he looked happier than she remembered him. It was unexpectedly comforting. She could still look at his scarred paws and remember how they had held that rat under the water that day on the beach, but it was no longer the first thought that came to her.

Instead, Plink looked at Chak's scarred paws and her mind drifted to Rindclaw. The blacksmith had scarred paws, too, from chafing hammers and flying sparks. She often traveled to the south end of New Town to stand outside the open forge, listening to the clangs and whooshes and watching the weasel teach his trade to the pawful of apprentices and assistants Plink had brought him. There was a brightness in his eyes that had not been there when she met him, and she felt a far greater satisfaction watching him than she had ever had from carrying Tooley's bag of coins.

Chak noticed her stare and raised his eyebrows. "Ye've been mighty quiet tonight, cully. Ain't ye got any stories from makin' yer deliveries? I'll wager ye've seen yer share o' sights, what with the trouble in the towns an' all."

Plink froze for an instant, afraid he might have caught wind of some inconvenient story in his travels. With a smile and a shake of her head, she dismissed the notion. "Meraldis won't have me tellin' tales, but..." She fumbled in her pocket, momentarily uncertain, then withdrew the worn blue book. "I could read a poem, if ya like."

She half expected the burly otter to laugh - Plink was no great fan of poetry, and Chak hardly seemed the type either - but instead he smiled and sat forward, waiting. Plink licked her lips and thumbed through the pages for the right one and tried not to notice how Robert's eyes glimmered where he sat in half-shadow. He, at least, knew where the book had come from. Finding the page at last, Plink scanned the lines, and drew a breath, and read.

Most of the time, she stuttered over the words in the little blue book and could not get at their meaning through the difficulty of sounding them out. Tonight, though, her mind slid past the words, and she felt again the sting of spray and the rush of salty wind. She felt the creak of timbers like an ache in her bones, and she could very nearly see her young friend as he had been before the island, when he was still only Scully Craws, with brightness and fresh dreams buoying him.


	101. Epilogue: Restitution

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Epilogue: Restitution**

 _By: Chak Ku'rill_

* * *

"What were Snubnose's real name again?" Chak halted, looking back.

Reedox didn't even have to check the small roll of parchment in his pocket. They had been over the list so many times, he knew most of it by heart. Chak did too, but couldn't help looking for an excuse to stall a bit longer. Not all the families were willing to hear the kind of news he brought to their doorsteps, and after fifty-seven such attempts, the otter had grown leery.

"Chester Lox."

Chak grunted, toying with the clip of the satchel hanging at his belt, then continued up the path toward the small cottage. Out of their list of sixty, only two of the slaves had proved impossible to trace. Most of the woodlanders had been from coastal towns, but some, like Chester, were from deeper parts of Mossflower, and had taken more effort to locate.

The sea otter rapped on the wooden door, then stepped back. A tired-looking volemaid answered, peering out at them suspiciously.

"May I help you?"

"Missus Lox?" Chak inquired.

"What's your business?" she returned guardedly.

"It… be a bit complicated, marm. We be 'ere regardin' yer late 'usband, Chester. We be… former shipmates o' 'is."

The vole's mouth dropped open and she let the door swing ajar, taking a step back. "Please, come in."

Chak ducked his head cautiously under the threshold and stepped through into the humble home, followed closely by the tailless squirrel.

The vole gestured at the table where four chairs sat empty, wiping her paws with an old ragged dishcloth. "Please have a seat."

Chak pulled one of the wicker chairs back. The tail stile had obviously not been designed with an otter in mind, so he sat at an angle. The vole joined them after turning up an oil lamp.

"This is the first I've heard any news in four years. I was sure deep down something awful had happened to him, but I still hoped that maybe, someday, he would return to me yet." The graying widow's head shook and she dabbed at her eyes with the cloth.

"An 'e might 'ave. 'E wanted to. But 'e were out at sea, a slave on a pirate ship. Chained durin' the night an' rowin' throughout the day under watchful eyes. Mostly 'e worked 'ard an' weren't no trouble."

"Yes, that's my Chester. Even when there was cause to fight, he always took the peaceable route. It wasn't in his nature to ever hurt others." She studied her broken, worn claws. "I've missed him terribly. I kept thinking he would return at any moment. I took out loans, even, thinking it was a temporary thing, but as time progressed and he still didn't come home, the creditors started calling. I couldn't keep up with the payments, no matter how much tatting or tailoring I did. Now they're threatening to take the house. It's why I was unwelcoming toward you at first. I do apologize."

Chak waved her off. "No need. I know we ain't 'zactly the most clean-cut o' creatures. Best fer a lonely lass such as yerself ta stay wary." Chak reached down into the satchel and retrieved a small object. "Thar were summat I wanted ta give ye, what Chester 'eld onta 'til the vury end." He held the silver-framed pendant out to the vole.

She gasped, putting a paw to her mouth and began to weep. After a while she wiped her eyes clear with a sniffle and lifted the pendant with reverence. "It was a gift on our wedding day. He always carried it when he went on long trips. 'For good luck,' he said."

Chak felt a heave of guilt, remembering how he had taken this last hope, this last small object of protection from the vole, right before he had needed it most.

"Can you tell me… how he died?" The volemaid blinked at them through tear-filled eyes. "Were you there?"

Chak cleared his throat, bowing his head. "Swallowed up by the sea, marm. 'E an' many others. Vury few escaped."

She groaned and covered her face once again, sobbing. After a couple minutes of listening to her heartbreak, Reedox nudged the sea otter pointedly. Chak nodded.

"I know t'ain't much, marm," he broke in as gently as his rough voice allowed, "but I also wanted ye ta 'ave a bit o' gold on Chester's be'alf. Summat ta 'elp ye, since 'e be gone." The sea otter brought the portioned bag out, setting it on the table with a heavy clink. It was barely a fraction of what they had collected from Blade's stockpile, but it still made the vole's eyes go wide.

"Oh sir," she sniffed, trying to compose herself. "I - I don't know how to thank you…"

"Ye shouldn' thank me, marm. I be doin' this as an act o' contrition more n' anythin'. I jus' wanted ta tell ye what 'appened, an' tell ye 'ow sorry I be."

"I think… I understand," she replied, taking a deep breath and wiping her face clear again. "You see, unlike Chester, I come from a military family. It's one reason I was so attracted to him in the first place. I know about the guilt that haunts survivors… and the nightmares." She touched Chak's scarred paw and he jerked it back, avoiding her understanding gaze.

How could she be so right when she only knew half the truth? She ought to hate him, not console him. He opened his mouth, about to tell her everything when Reedox stood, gripping a pawful of his shirt at the shoulder.

"Thank you, ma'am, for your time. We know gold can't comfort the same as having your husband back, but mayhaps it can help ease your troubles."

She nodded appreciatively. Chak rose to his feet, pursing his lips and glancing at the squirrel. Reedox practically pushed him out the door. After a last departing wave, the two beasts headed back the way they had come. Reedox breathed a sigh, then glared at Chak.

"You nearly did it again."

Chak shoved his thumbs in his belt, focusing on the muddy path beneath his paws. "She didn' know the 'ole story."

"Telling her you're the one that enslaved him isn't the whole story either. I get that you feel guilty. You should. But making everyone's relatives all drive us out with flying cutlery and curses is _not_ helpful. Not if you want them to keep the money, or tell you more about their lost loved ones. I mean, isn't that the whole reason we're doing this?"

"Aye. Jus' don' feel right lettin 'er believe a lie is all."

Reedox scrubbed his whiskers with a paw. "Trust me, she's much happier for it. And it wasn't a complete lie. We were his shipmates, we escaped, we were both slaves…"

Chak scoffed. "I thought ye were the honest one, Reed."

The squirrel grew silent and they walked a good length of trail before he spoke again. "You know, that whole pendant ordeal on the ship – it wasn't what you thought."

Chak's gaze snapped to the squirrel and he narrowed his eyes. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Snub wasn't onboard with the plan," Reedox shrugged. "We wanted to teach him a lesson. Show him he was either with the group or we were against him too. Consequences."

Chak looked out at the path ahead. "The plan ta kill me, ye mean."

Reedox kicked at a tuft of yellow grass. "I'm still not sure Nimbleton would have gone through with it himself, but I know there were… others that would have."

Chak watched the squirrel's posture change and his ears pin back.

"Aye."

They were quiet the rest of the journey back to Port Weatherby where Chak's cutter sat waiting for them, bobbing softly in the water. Chak slipped the dock guard another coin and they boarded the small vessel, checking that nothing had been disturbed.

The journey inland had taken a full day and the two exhausted beasts collapsed into the folds of their cocoon-like hammocks, yet Chak's mind still raced. They had reached the end of the list. Nimbleton was the only one left. Not that his family had been hard to find – Reedox knew more about him than any other slave. Nimbleton's hometown of Fariby was not far from the squirrel's own village.

"So I serpose we'll be partin' ways soon, eh?"

"Aye. I s'pose." A beat of silence passed. "How long do you think you'll be anchored in Fariby?"

"Dunno. Depends on 'ow things go. Mayhaps a couple o' days. Jus' so I can get a feel fer the place."

"Aye," Reedox answered with a yawn. Soon his breathing grew easy with sleep. Chak turned in his hammock and tried not to dwell on the idea of being alone again. All was silent save the lapping of water against the hull, and soon the sea otter drifted off to sleep himself.

* * *

After two days sailing along the Mossflower coast, Chak and Reedox reached their destination. Fariby was a sizeable port that was more a city than a town. Lampposts with hanging flowerpots lined the streets and beasts could be spotted sweeping cobblestone paths and picking up refuse here and there. It was nothing like the ports Chak was used to, which were generally rather scummy places with sewage streaming along the sides of rutted, muddy roads. Instead of shady ale houses that reeked of piss and vomit, there were friendly-looking pubs advertising local musicians and acorn brews. Females strolled leisurely along the walkways, unafraid, and children scampered about playing rather than begging.

"Who'd know thar were an underground slave-tradin' ring 'ere not that long ago," Chak marveled.

Reedox nodded. "Fewer pirates means less business. You have to admit, Atlas's campaign did make a difference."

"Aye, but ye might notice most o' them what be doin' the dirty work 'round 'ere be vermin." Chak jerked his head at a sea rat sweeping up a pile of hairballs and nut shells.

"Community service maybe?" Reedox shrugged distractedly, then looked down at his footpaws. "I'd… better get going. It's a half day's journey up river and I'd like to get there before it gets too dark." He gazed off in the direction of home.

"So this is it then." Chak breathed out a sigh of resignation through his nose. "Yer really goin'."

"Aye." The squirrel squinted up at his companion, mouth forming a tight line.

The sea otter extended his scarred paw and the squirrel grasped it in a firm shake. "It's been good 'avin' ye around fer company these seasons. I'll be missin' yer scurvy 'ide."

The squirrel shrugged again. "Yeah." Some indistinguishable expression tugged at the edge of his mouth. "We'll see how things go." Then he scurried off, rucksack bobbing against his shoulders.

The otter wasn't sure what he had really expected. A tearful goodbye? An embrace? Neither suited the squirrel. Chak supposed abrupt was better than awkward, but the suddenness of Reedox's abandonment left the otter feeling strangely vulnerable.

He rolled his shoulders and headed into the heart of the city, eager to find a distraction. After a while, a rhythmic sound caught his ear. As he moved closer, the noise became distinguishable as music, and the sea otter brightened. He found the source at a shop around the corner where three beasts played instruments on an outdoor stage. A red and gold-painted sign proclaimed information about the band and a decorated tip bucket sat beneath it. Chak pretended not to notice the sign at all. He sat at an empty table, drumming his claws to the beat. Soon, a shrewmaid in a stained apron approached him.

"What's your pleasure this afternoon, dearie?"

Chak grunted. "Gimmee summat wi' a local flavor."

She nodded and left him to bask in the cheerful resonance of the musicians' instruments. There was a river otter with a huge, oversized fiddle, a squirrel with a variety of drums, and a mouse with a recorder. The music was lively and several beasts around were dancing and clapping in time. After a while the tune ended and another began, though this time the otter broke into song.

"A needle patch, a broker's toe,  
Don't tell me what I ought to know,  
Six long years I let it grow,  
'Side the archipelago.

Pickadilly, Roget's clay,  
Whisker twitch and docker's pay,  
Sticky paws in time betray,  
Ask me once then go away."

The otter played her instrument vigorously while she caught her breath. Chak noticed that the tempo seemed to increase with every line.

"Stomp a willow, tree a hare,  
Lack-a-daisy, Flippin square,  
Crooked ticker, make a mayor  
Crack a thistle - I don't care!"

Blue pajama jelly rose,  
This is how a madbeast shows  
Just how far the sticker goes  
Through the paw pad, up the nose."

Chak hardly believed the singer could spit the words out fast enough as the pace grew even quicker. He felt his own pulse increase at the urgency.

"Fishing for a darling deep,  
Treasure that I cannot keep,  
Wash the nightmare from your sleep,  
Sludges in the shadows creep.

Twisted penny, blackened heart,  
Long ago and far apart,  
Wish I'd known it from the start,  
Turn a key but don't depart!"

The fevered chaos ended with her last syllable and the audience erupted in cheers and applause. The ottermaid bowed once, then guzzled refreshment from a tankard, breathing heavily as the band eased into a slower, simpler melody. The mouse carried the melancholy tune with his flute while the otter and squirrel quietly underlined his efforts.

The shrew waitress plopped a mug of dark, frothing liquid in front of Chak. He sniffed curiously at the draft.

"It's called 'blackbark.' Brewed just around the corner."

Chak took a draw and smacked his lips, foam lingering on his muzzle and whiskers. "Nice rich flavor."

The shrew nodded genially. "Anything else I can get for you?"

"Nay, this'll be fine. I were wonderin' though – who be playin'?" He jerked a thumb at the band.

"That'd be 'The Nimble Tongues,' dearie. You must be from out of town."

Chak nodded dumbly, gaping at the musicians with surprise. It couldn't be a coincidence. He studied the mouse with the flute more closely. There were a few similarities, but nothing definite. His gaze wandered back to the ottermaid, stroking the long, stiff strings of her instrument, eyes closed as she focused on each long, sad note. Soon enough the tune drew to a close, and the river otter stood, scratching her back with her bow.

"We're gonna wrap it up now, but stick around! 'The Peanut Galley' are up next and I hear they've a couple new shanties to surprise you with. And remember – if you like what you heard, show some love and drop a coin or two in the bucket!" The beasts in the immediate area applauded politely as the mouse, otter and squirrel bowed and began packing up their things.

Chak rose to his feet, taking one last swallow of beer before boldly approaching the musical trio. He honed in on the ottermaid who was tying up her oversized fiddle in a soft, protective case. He cleared his throat and nodded at the instrument, gaining her attention momentarily. "What d'ye call that thing, if ye don' mind me askin'? Cain't say I've seen one afore."

"It's a bass violin," she answered coolly.

"Arrr." Chak scratched at the back of his neck, finding himself unable to focus on anything but the ottermaid's long, slick tail for an inappropriate length of time.

"If you'll excuse me…" she hefted her case across her back, pushing her arms through a set of carrying straps, then made as if to leave.

Realizing he might lose his chance, Chak found his voice again, "I wanted ter ask ye – an' yer band, if I might buy ye a round o' drinks."

The ottermaid sighed. I'm sorry. I'm not much of a drinker, actually, and we're all pretty tired. You understand." She moved past him.

"Wait," Chak beckoned her to pause with a hint of desperation. "It ain't jus' that I liked yer singin'. I wanted ta ask ye… about Nimbleton."

The ottermaid turned, evaluating the gruff sea otter more carefully. "Nimbleton Pronèle?"

Chak shrugged. "Be thar more 'n one 'round 'ere?"

The singer shifted her instrument to a more comfortable position, pulling a twist out of one strap. "What about him? What do you want to know?" Her eyes wandered absently toward her bandmates who stood waiting for her at the edge of the road.

Chak looked at the ground. "'E were a slave aboard the same ship as me. I be lookin' ter tell 'is family what 'appened. 'Ow 'e died." When he looked back up, the maid's eyes were wide and her mouth hung ajar.

She clamped it shut again, blinking rapidly. "We'll take you to them. My bandmate Brushby is his cousin. We all knew him… quite well."

Chak felt a pang in his chest. "Sorry."

"Salina Fiord." She extended a paw to the other otter. "Any friend of Nimbleton's is a friend of mine."

Chak clasped her paw, shaking it firmly. They made their way over to the other two band members. Salina introduced the mouse as Brushby and the squirrel as Edwin.

"You can just call me Ned." The squirrel grinned, showing his long white incisors. Chak introduced himself in return with Salina adding that he knew Nimbleton when he was a slave.

"He'd like to talk to the Pronèles," she said, looking pointedly at Brushby.

The mouse nodded readily. "We would all like to learn more about Nimbleton's fate. I'll take you up to the hill house."

They all fell into step behind Brushby as he led the way through the city. Chak fell into step beside Salina. The bass looked burdensome, covering most of the ottermaid's back and looming over her shoulders. "I could carry that fer ye, if ye like."

She shook her head. "I'm used to it, thanks."

Chak frowned, wishing for something more to do with his paws. "So, what were Min- Nimbleton like afore? When 'e lived 'ere?"

Salina took a deep breath then let it out. "He was an actor, mostly. Very esteemed, but at the same time real down-to-earth. His family's well off, but you wouldn't know it the way he treated other beasts. There were rumors that he'd have done well in the political arena, if he'd had the chance. He had the finances and the support. Mostly he was an entertainer though." The ottermaid smiled to herself. "He could come up with the funniest skits on the fly. Improvisation was kind of his thing, and often he'd make up a song on the spot to fit the current situation and get a laugh." She chuckled then, a distant look in her eyes. "Once he made up this entire rhyming song about 'who would know my pretty face was hid behind that big fat bass.' Or something like that. I wish I could remember all the words now…"

"I know 'ow ye feel." Chak sighed.

"He encouraged me to write my own songs, and to sing too." She looked sadly off into the distance as they trudged up a steep incline. "He always believed I'd be something great."

"Aye. Well 'e were right. Ye be a fine singer. 'E'd be proud."

"Except it's the same thing I've been doing since before he was taken." She adjusted her instrument again with a grunt, starting to pant slightly.

"D'ye usually carry it up mountain sides too?" Chak pushed. "Ye should catch yer breath after all that singin'. 'Ere…" The two paused as Chak seized a hold of the case handle. Salina reluctantly surrendered the bass to the gruff sea otter, wincing and hissing with her paws ready to catch it in case it fell. Chak was careful though, and slid the instrument easily across his own back.

"Thank you. You're very kind."

"Har har har!" Chak laughed, shaking his head at the compliment. "Ne'er been called _that_ afore..."

The otters quickened their pace to catch up to the others then. A substantial mansion topped the rounded peak ahead and Chak chewed his hairy bottom lip. If Nimbleton's family was as well off as Salina said, their small sack of gold might be seen as more of an insult than restitution. It was one thing to be tossed out on his ear by Boddle's family. Nimbleton's was another matter entirely. He resolved more than ever to keep his role secret this time.

Brushby took them through a small, cast iron gate that creaked on squeaky hinges and up a path through an elaborate garden. Chak marveled at the uniformity and beauty, coming to a complete halt upon sight of a white marble statue – a mouse holding up a set of gleaming brass balance scales.

"It's supposed to represent fairness," Salina explained in a quiet, almost reverential tone. Chak stroked his plaited whiskers thoughtfully, wondering how off-kilter his own measure would be.

Edwin paused ahead of them, waiting at a split in the path.

"This be a beauty-filled place," Chak remarked as they drew near to the squirrel. "Be this whar Nimbleton lived?"

"Yeah, most of 'is balmy life, the lucky clod. Not sure 'ow _we_ ended up being friends." The squirrel gazed out across the garden, paws propped at his sides. "Maybe 'e just wanted to annoy 'is folks…"

Salina nudged him and they all continued up the path. "Ned and Nimbleton were very close growing up. They were "Ned and Nim" to most everyone. A real duo of trouble from what I hear."

Ned winked at Chak. "You wouldn't believe some of the stunts we pulled. Near criminal, we were."

"Oh, aye?" Chak probed.

"Yeah, we once snuck into the chief of security's office and replaced his Stagmor trophy with one Nimbleton had commissioned out of cheese. It took him over a week to figure out what the smell was and by then it was growing blue mold!"

The sea otter blinked at the squirrel.

"Ah, you 'ad ta be there, I guess." Ned waved a dismissive paw and sighed.

Too soon they caught up with Brushby at the grand door of the three-story hill house. An elderly meadow mouse with white hairs protruding from his ears answered, bowing respectfully. "May I ask who accompanies you, Master Tanbuckle?"

Brushby nodded at each beast in turn. "Well you know Edgar and Salina. This here's Chak. He was slavemates with Nimbleton and brings news of his fate. I knew Harlan and Calla would want to see him, so I brought him up right away without sending ahead."

The old butler nodded and allowed them all to pass through the oversized doorway, gesturing at a row of chairs and cushioned benches along the entryway. "Please, make yourselves comfortable while I pass on the message." He scurried off, an urgency in his stiff steps.

Chak slid the bass carefully from his back and leaned it against a shelf as Salina directed, then paced back and forth while the other three sat, taking in everything around him. An intricate chandelier twinkled high above their heads, candlelight reflecting through hundreds of crystals. Paintings of various mice – some very old-looking – hung along the walls. Chak stopped in front of a larger painting of two mice holding an infant.

"Were Nimbleton an only child?"

"Yes." The voice echoed down from above and Chak jerked. "Though one might argue that Salina and Edwin were as close as siblings." A lady mouse made her way delicately down a broad set of stairs, accompanied by a somber gray mouse with spectacles and an authoritative presence. Chak recognized them both from the painting.

"Master and Lady Pronèle," the elderly butler announced, having reemerged behind Chak. The sea otter started again, surprised at the meadow mouse's sudden appearance. The three other beasts rose to their feet, respectfully. Mrs. Pronèle reached out and embraced Salina, kissing her lightly as the taller beast bent down. She patted Ned's paw affectionately and stroked Brushby's head.

"If you would care to join us in the parlor, we would be very interested to hear what news you bring." The lady mouse gestured cordially and made her way back up the stairs, Mr. Pronèle escorting her genteelly by the paw. Chak plodded up after them, feeling like he was soiling everything he touched. The top of the stairs opened up into a spacious, yet cozy room full of soft chairs and couches.

"Please. Make yourself comfortable," Mrs. Pronèle gestured toward a group of chairs that encircled a round, marble-topped table. Chak chose a dark brown chair with brass studs along the edges in the hopes it would hide any fur or grime he might unwittingly leave behind. The others joined him in the surrounding seats with the Pronèles sitting directly across from their guest.

The stately, gray-furred mouse spoke up then, his deep voice carrying clearly to all ears. "As I understand it, you know what's become of my son…"

Chak felt the pressure as all eyes turned toward him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "I'm sure ye've 'eard by now about Cap'n Blade an' the sea battle what took place off o' Salamandastron." Heads nodded and he continued, "I be comin' from all that, an' Nimbleton's fate be tied in wi' the reemergence o' Cap'n Blade at Mongoose Island. Y'see, 'e were a galley slave aboard a pirate ship called the _Silver Maiden_ what were 'eaded thar in search o' rumored treasure…"

Chak laid it all out for them – how Nimbleton had been a leader amidst the slaves and how his singing had encouraged and inspired them not to lose hope. He told them about the slavemaster nicknamed "Cruel" on account of his strict and hard-hearted nature, about the plan to escape, and the unexpected ramming of the Waverunner ship that fateful night.

The butler, Chassy, handed Chak a cup of honeyed tea, and he accepted it gratefully, taking a sip to sooth his throat. He gripped the cup tightly to steady his paws and continued, relating the horror of the cannons and the sinking of the ship from the slaves' perspective until he reached his own part in the tale, which caused him to falter. He paused as his brain worked to carefully reconstruct the story.

"Master Cruel returned, but the rat what 'ad the key ta the slaves' chains was gone, an' the ship were a'ready 'alf submerged. The lucky ones – Nimbleton bein' one o' them, were fortunate enough ta be in the front row whar Cruel worked ta 'elp tear the chains from the floorboards afore the _Silver Maiden_ went under. Some'ow…we made it ashore an' collapsed thar 'til mornin'." Chak took a long drink, draining his teacup completely, then scrubbed a paw across his coarse whisker mustache.

"So he survived?" Mrs. Pronèle interrupted, a note of hope in her voice. "He's alive?"

Chak's face contorted and he shook his head.

"Let him tell us at his own pace, Calla." Mr. Pronèle took his wife's paw gently in his own. She choked back a sob and put her head against his shoulder. Chak reached out and placed the teacup shakily on the porcelain saucer the butler had left on the center table. It gave a sharp clink and he winced. _So fragile…_

"Nimbleton made it ta the island along wi' Reedox, the squirrel I were tellin' ye about, an' Cruel made it too. We were still in chains, an' 'e still acted as slave master, despite thar bein' no ship ta row. Reedox still wanted ta kill 'im, but Nimbleton didn' seem ta think it were necessary anymore. I think 'e felt a debt ta the driver, fer savin' 'is life. Also Cruel seemed ta mourn the loss o' the other slaves, goin' so far as ta set up a memorial, which Nimbleton seemed ta 'preciate. At the memorial, Nimbleton sang a song fer all the lost souls – a resonatin' melody...what stabbed me 'eart an' shivered me bones…" Chak drifted off in the memory for several seconds before recovering.

"The slave master entrusted 'im with a dagger too, though no one else knew about it at the time. Nimbleton coulda used it against 'im at any moment, but 'e chose not to. Mayhaps 'e saw it as an indication the slave an' master relationship were startin' ta break down." Chak shrugged.

"Later they came across another group o' marooned beasts, an' Cruel recognized the sea rat what 'ad chained everyone an' fled wi' the key. 'E were so enraged, 'e killed 'im right then an' thar. 'Eld 'im underwater 'til 'e were as drowned an' dead as the slaves 'e'd left be'ind. A form o' justice, I serpose. Though one might argue that it were more a matter o' vengeance fer takin' summat valuable from 'im." Chak studied the claws on his fingers. "Either way, Nimbleton seemed ta sympathize, e'en in that."

Brushby swallowed, exchanging a look with Edwin. Chak watched them both shift uncomfortably.

"Ye'd be surprised what so many years o' slavery'll do ta a beast's conscience," he explained knowingly. "E'en the mos' kind-'earted souls be findin' a bitter resentment growin' deep inside what can bloom inta violence, given enough time. Coldness be a form o' protection, like a callous. Otherwise ye jus' go mad." The sea otter shook his head. "Slavery either kills ye early on er 'ardens ye inta a darker, crueler version o' yerself. Few be able ta retain compassion in the midst o' all that pain an' sufferin'. Nimbleton were rare in that regard, but at the same time, 'e still 'ad that callous like the rest o' us what enabled 'im ta continue." Chak gritted his teeth. "'E saw summat in Cruel. Don' know why. Don' know what. But 'e 'ad faith that 'e'd turn out fer the better in the end."

"Nimbleton was always like that," Edwin interjected. "Always looking for the good in others. Made us all strive to do better – to become that better beast."

"Yarrrr," Chak agreed heartily.

"So then what happened?" Brushby prodded.

"Well, Cruel took the key from the rat's dead body an' unlocked all the manacles. So we were all free then – free ta go er free ta stay. 'Owever, thar were a Waverunner 'edge'og among the new group o' beasts what were fair an' friendly, an' were quick ta take charge. 'Is name were Robert. Everyone seemed ta favor 'im an' Nimbleton were no exception. I expect 'e reminded 'im 'ow things ought ta be. Motivation by encouragement ruther 'n by a whip. Leadin' through example ruther 'n by fear…" Chak looked from face to face at the surrounding room of family and friends. "Things seemed ta be gettin' better. We were free, an' a respectable beast were at the 'elm." He took a deep breath, pursing his lips. The expectant silence weighed on the sea otter's shoulders and he started to fidget again.

"Durin' the night, one o' the youngest beasts fled inta the jungle forest along wi' another beast what were upset about the rat bein' killed. They didn' want ta be anywhar near Cruel, y'see. Robert wanted ta go after 'em an' find 'em. We didn' know at the time the dangers o' the jungle forest." Chak paused, feeling his throat go suddenly tight. He had skipped over the details of the slaves drowning on the ship, but he knew he couldn't gloss over this part of the story. He felt his breath come quicker as his heart began to race. "Nimbleton were scoutin' ahead, out in front, followin' the trail. 'E sprung a trap what were set up by the natives ta defend their territory. We didn' e'en _know_ thar were natives." Chak's breath caught in his throat and he felt his face grow hot as he held out his paws, imagining the dying mouse once again. His vision blurred and his face stretched into a tight grimace. "I 'eld 'im… in me arms. Thar were a 'ealer wi' us, but she said thar were naught ta be done. So all I could do was watch… as…as 'e slipped away." Chak's voice broke at the end and he shook his head.

"He put himself out there, between his friends and danger," Brushby stated somberly. "Taking that daring first step so that others could follow. That's Nimbleton in a nutshell."

Nimbleton's mother started to cry while others whimpered and sniffed quietly. Mr. Pronèle held his wife in his arms, soothing her. Chak noticed that even the butler had tear tracks cutting through his gray cheek fur.

"Damn it," the sea otter swore, looking down at his now-empty arms. "It shoulda been me." He lifted his trembling paws to his face.

Salina slid quietly next to him then, putting a comforting paw to his knee. "None of you should have died. You were born free and deserved to live full, happy lives. _All of you._ If anyone deserved to die, it was those who took that from you."

"Ye don' get it!" Chak's voice rose suddenly as he shoved her arm away. He stood, bristling, eyes bloodshot with tears. "Ye don' know who I be!"

She shied away, startled at his fearsome appearance.

The sea otter paused, taking a deep, full breath, then let it out slowly. He clenched and unclenched his fists, closing his eyes. When he spoke again his voice was calm and measured, "No beast woulda blinked an eye er shed one tear if it'd been me." He paused. "'Cept mayhaps _him_." He collapsed into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes. Silence reigned in the room, broken now and again by sniffs and sobs.

"So was Nimbleton right?" Salina's voice interjected.

"How d'ye mean?" Chak muttered, regarding the ottermaid.

Salina was studying him closely, eyes narrowed. "About the slave driver."

Chak avoided looking her in the face, considering how far he should play out the lie. "Aye. I serpose."

Salina waited until he looked up again, meeting her accusing eyes.

"You're him. Aren't you."

Chak froze, trapped in her cold, condemning glare. He swallowed, then glanced around the room from face to face. All eyes were riveted on him, and he could sense the hostility growing.

"Why would ye think that?" he dodged.

"Well for one thing, you talk like a pirate, not a woodlander. That's a pretty big clue."

Chak shrugged. "I been a slave most o' me life among pirates. It rubs off on ye."

"You told that entire story like you weren't really a part of it. Nimbleton got along with Cruel. Reedox wanted to kill him. What about you? It's like you forgot to mention your own existence, while expounding extensively on the relationship between Cruel and Nim. Plus that bit about me not knowing who you are and that no one would have cared if you'd been the one to die. That signals a guilty conscience if you ask me." She crossed her arms.

Chak looked down at his paws again, lost for words.

"Mr. Pronèle, you might want to send for some guards," Salina suggested. Chak looked up in time to see the mouse nod at the butler who immediately stepped out.

"Wait…what air ye doin'?"

Salina rose to her feet. "Nimbleton may have found a way to forgive you and look past what you did, but you can't seriously expect us to sit here and ignore the fact that the beast _who enslaved Nimbleton_ is sitting right beside us. You stole more than a pair of working paws, corsair. You stole more than one life. You took a part of all our lives. Our _hearts_." Tears streamed down her face, past glistening fangs.

Chak stood up, bewildered. "I didn'. I weren't the one what enslaved 'im! I were the driver! The cap'n bought 'im off a merchant when we were short-pawed –"

"You _kept_ him enslaved, then!" The ottermaid snarled in his face. "All those years! All those years lost to him and to us!" Her chest heaved with indignation.

"Aye." Chak replied. "An' I know thar ain't nothin' I can do ta make up fer it. All I can do is ta tell ye what I came 'ere ta tell ye. That I'm sorry." He cast a glance around the room to include everyone. "An' I wish ta Darkest Forest that I could go back an' change things but I cain't." He sat back down resignedly. "All I can do is try an' be that better beast what Nimbleton saw."

Salina put a paw to her mouth in anguish and left the room with a choking sound. The butler reappeared at the doorway and Mr. Pronèle moved to speak with him in a hushed voice. Chak waited, scraping some dirt out from under his claws, mulling over this new circumstance. Perhaps they would throw him in a dungeon. Or maybe they would have him water flowers and light lanterns in the square…

"Mr. Chak," Mr. Pronèle addressed him firmly.

"Ku'rill be me surname."

"Mr. Ku'rill then. I just wanted you to know that a pair of townsguards are on their way up. I think we need some time to discuss all of this as a family though, before we make any…final decisions. If you would please cooperate with them, we will send further word shortly."

Chak nodded sullenly. He looked at Ned who appeared frozen with apprehension, then at Brushby, his eyes wide and his lips drawn tight. Mrs. Pronèle seemed lost in her grief, face covered with her thin, white-furred paws.

A uniformed badger and hefty-shouldered hedgehog appeared at the door behind Mr. Pronèle, who motioned at Chak. The sea otter gave everyone one last, gloomy glance, then joined the guards as they marched him down the stairs.


	102. Epilogue: Reedox Redux

The following is a transcription of posts made by ten different contestants on an offsite forum. Every week they will write chapters from their own character's points of views and push the plot forward until its inevitable conclusion. One by one, they will be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" on our user page and vote and discuss.

* * *

 **Epilogue: Reedox Redux**

 _By: Chak Ku'rill_

* * *

Reedox perched in a familiar, tall elm, looking down at his village in the cricketing twilight. He was an outsider, observing the everyday comings and goings, exchanges and laughter. It was familiar, but it was foreign, like a dream. His breath started to mist around him as the chilly night set in, but still he sat, unwilling to interrupt the lazy rhythms of village life. He imagined himself slipping back into the old routines, hailing those he knew and flirting with the occasional maiden between the watch shifts. But he was a different beast in that vision – one who garnered respect and still held his dignity.

Below him a small squirrelmaid walked by herself carrying an oil lantern in one paw and a basket of baked goods in the other. He squinted down at her, trying to make out the face, but he couldn't quite place it. Abruptly, a cold barb of steel pricked at the back of his neck. Reedox went rigid, holding his breath.

"I'm curious what might motivate a stranger like you to take such a keen interest in my _daughter_."

Reedox's memory scrambled to place the voice. He knew this beast. The hoarse, drawn-out inflections came from a grayer, elder face with long chin whiskers, he knew. Then it clicked. It was Casper, who had led the first team he had been recruited to.

"You're telling me that maiden is little Clover?" The weapon ceased creasing his nape and pulled away. Reedox turned slowly to meet the eyes of a silver-frosted squirrel gripping a notched bow and arrow.

"Red?" Casper's bow fell, as did his jaw. "Red Oakendale?" His eyes locked on the ugly brand across Reedox's face. "Martin's sword," he swore in a disbelieving whisper, "what happened to you?"

"I survived," Reedox answered simply.

"You hardly smell like yourself anymore, let alone look… like yourself…" The older squirrel shook his head.

"Three seasons on a pirate slave galley and a half season in a sulfur mine changes a beast somewhat."

"You were presumed dead… or as good as dead. Most of your unit was killed."

A pained expression settled across Reedox's face. "Who made it back?"

"Just Antolle and Burnsweep. They brought Draymire with them, but… he didn't recover." The old squirrel's lips tightened across his yellowed incisors.

Reedox considered all who were lost. All good beasts, and firm companions. Antolle had been a new transfer at the time, so Reedox didn't really know him, but it would be nice to see Burnie again.

"What happened to your tail?" The question finally came. It was hard to tell whether it was disgust or pity in Casper's voice.

"Punishment for an escape attempt." Reedox looked out across the village once more, fists held tight.

Casper put a paw to his shoulder and he flinched. "Why don't you come down? I'll walk with you to your house."

"I'd prefer the _tree trail_ , if you don't mind."

"Of course, of course. I was just thinking that maybe others might want –"

"I don't need an escort." Reedox cut him off. The older squirrel grew silent, then withdrew quietly. Reedox could hear the scrabble of his claws fade away and he took a deep breath, feeling only a small measure of guilt. He resented the idea of being paraded. It might be dark, but a tailless squirrel would still draw attention. He would have to go home now, lest rumors reach his family first.

Reedox leapt from tree to tree, paws following the familiar network with ease. His confidence rose as he sped along, same as he had in the past. Maybe things really could go back to the way they were, the same way his paws fell into the old routine. Then he jumped, and missed. He fell, grasping wildly at stray branches, stripping leaves as he went until he found himself dangling just shy of the forest floor by a springy scaffold branch. He cursed and dropped down with a crunch into the litterfall.

A light shone in a window above and a scowling granny peered down at him. Chatter from another house reached his tufted ears and he spun to see two squirrels looking down at him from another fire-lit opening. He hunched his shoulders and pulled his coat up around his face, shuffling off toward home once again. It wasn't far, but he sensed many curious eyes following after him.

At the base of his own oak, he rested a paw against the bark, head bowed as he prepared his mind with the right words. He sank his claws into the bark and began his ascent, satchel swaying back and forth across his back. At the receiving platform he paused, staring at the bell cord, reaching out, then hesitating, then reaching again and giving it a quick tug. All of the mentally rehearsed words leaked from his memory as the door opened and an elderly squirrel gaped at him.

"Hello, Mum."

* * *

Though he had stayed up late into the night talking with his mother and sister, Reedox was unable to sleep past dawn's first light. He sat on an open window sill, breathing in the fresh scent of his home forest – the musk of old leaflitter carpeting the ground, the bitter tang of the changing foliage, the occasional whiff of fungi clusters growing up through damp deadwood, and the distinctive smells of a variety of both deciduous and coniferous tree species. The damp air was pungent with memories.

"Brrrrrrr. A bit nippy to be leaving the shutters open, don't you think?"

Reedox turned to see his elderly mother clutching her robe tightly across her chest. He gave a half nod and stepped back down to the soft-woven rug, pulling the wooden flaps closed.

"I'll put a pot on the fire for some tea. That'll warm you up." She busied herself in the small kitchen, stoking the fire and filling the kettle from a tall cistern. Reedox watched her move with her bent back and practiced paws. She chewed a licorice root rhythmically as she worked, and Reedox found himself mesmerized by it all. He had missed the peace and comfort that now surrounded him, and it surprised him how like a child he felt. He looked down at his rough paws, worn and hardened by years of rowing. He was a different beast now, but this at least, was the same.

He shared a pot of rosehip tea with his mother, who chatted about mild and harsh winters, that cheeky young thing next door, and her collection of new jams. After an hour or two, his sister, Sorrell, finally emerged. She hesitated in the kitchen doorway, as though afraid of interrupting.

"Morning."

Reedox lifted a paw of greeting, scooting his chair to give her more space. She joined them then, and an awkward silence prevailed until Mother spoke up.

"Would you like some tea, dear? I can put on more hot water." She stood, already heading for the kitchen.

"Sure! Sounds lovely," Sorrell answered politely. She flashed Reedox a small smile and picked up a scone from a basket at the center of the table. Reedox noticed it was the last.

"Dibs." He stated flatly, just as Sorrell opened her mouth to bite into the pastry.

She froze, turning toward him with a disbelieving smirk. "You _rat._ "

Reedox smiled impishly back at her. She offered him the scone, but he waved it away with a chuckle. "No, no, you can have it. I've already had two anyway."

She smacked him across the shoulder with the back of her paw and vindictively sunk her teeth into the sugary crust. Her posture relaxed then, and Reedox sipped his warm tea down to the dregs.

"So what are you gonna do, now that you're back?"

Reedox tapped the handle of his cup. "I thought I'd pay a visit to Bo Burnie first. Catch up."

Sorrell chewed thoughtfully. "Are you going to return to the Guard? I mean, after all that happened?"

"I'm not afraid to fight," Reedox answered pointedly. "In fact, I can't think of anyplace I'd rather be if bandits or looters showed up again."

Sorrell nodded understandingly and quietly finished the rest of her scone. Mother returned with a newly filled pot of tea and an extra cup, but Reedox stood up as she sat.

"I'll leave you two to yourselves, if you don't mind. Think I'd like to go out while the dew's still new."

They wished him well, falling happily back into their own well-practiced routine as Reedox pulled on his brown coat and headed out onto the landing. He paused there, fastening another button.

Two paths lay before him: trees and earth. Reedox had always preferred the arboreal route, but his fall the night before unsettled him. He retreated down the trunk of the oak at last, telling himself it was as much out of a desire to stay dry as a fear of embarrassing himself in front of everyone.

The first tree he stopped at was a tall chestnut – one of the largest in a four-league radius. The Burnsweeps had benefited greatly from their home harvests over the years, as chestnuts were always in high demand. It was no surprise that Bo Burnsweep had become involved with the guard early on. Poachers were always a problem during picking season and it took a dedicated family effort to keep an effective harvest vigil. The Burnsweeps were trained from their youth to be watchful and recognize the sounds of sneaking beasts.

Reedox climbed up the rough bark towards the landing, noting the collection nets were already spread beneath the thick bows in preparation for nutfall. A head peered down at him over the edge of the platform.

"Wotcha."

Reedox lifted a paw in salutation, indicating a friendly approach. Once he reached the landing, he was able to get a better look at the stringy sentry. She was young, but fierce-looking, armed with a bow and several fine-fletched arrows.

"Tabitha, isn't it?" He was pretty sure he recognized Bo's little sister. She nodded curtly. "Got stuck with the early morning shift, eh?" Reedox tried to ease the tension.

She jutted her chin at him. "I'm the best, so we all agreed I should cover the prime thieving hours."

"Bo wasn't such a poor shot either, last I saw him."

The look she gave him was severe.

Reedox retreated a step. "Which… was quite a long time ago."

She eyed him narrowly. "You're Reedox."

"Aye." All traces of false cheer faded from his scarred features. "Is he home?"

"They said you'd returned." She looked up past him at the house that wrapped elaborately round the great tree. "He's probably still asleep." She dropped her gaze to meet his. "He sleeps a lot these days. Go on up though. I'm sure Marcy will be awake."

Reedox gave a nod and climbed the ladder to the receiving door. He knocked, and after a moment a silky-furred squirrel in a blue, white-laced apron answered.

"Red Oakendale," she stated with a measure of wonder. "Casper told us you might drop by…" She shook her head at his diminished appearance. "It's been a while. Please, come in." She picked up a bottle and mopped a place clear at the table for him to sit. "I'm sorry Bo is… a bit under the weather right now." Her expression was pained.

"I'm sorry to hear. I was hoping to catch up. Apparently most of my other friends are dead."

Silence. Reedox rubbed at his whiskers.

"His too." She set the bottle down on the countertop with a light clinking sound. Reedox noticed six others beside it. "He hasn't dealt with it very well."

"I see." Reedox studied his claws carefully.

"When he heard you were alive last night, he drank to your health…" She wrung a dry towel between her paws. "I found him sleeping at the table this morning."

"Is he still on the Guard?" Reedox asked hesitantly.

"No. They let him go. He wasn't up to it after..." she trailed off.

Reedox met the maid's sorrowful eyes. They had always been friends, growing up. "How are _you_ holding up, Marcy?"

Her face strained with the effort of composure. "I don't know. The family tries to help, but…it's like I'm losing him day by day, little by little. Sometimes I think he wants me to leave, just so he doesn't have to feel guilty about putting me off."

Reedox sighed grimly. He had no advice or counsel, and only felt more dispirited. Marcy and Bo had been such a bright and happy couple. He looked toward the door.

Marcy sat down across from him, folding her paws together. "Maybe you can talk to him. Of all beasts he'll listen to you – one of his former mates."

"What do you want me to say?" Reedox held out his paws.

Marcy frowned. "That there's hope – that just because he lived, doesn't mean he should punish himself the rest of his life… or me…"

Reedox massaged the scar on his forehead, sorry he had come at all. "Alright. I'll try to say something to him, but don't get your hopes up. I don't think this is the type of thing a bloke can just be _talked out of_." He stood up, ready to leave and she rose as well, moving around the edge of the table to meet him.

"I'm sorry to put all this on you. I shouldn't. But at this point, I'll try anything to get my husband back. He's a good beast, and you know that. Remind him of who he is." She clutched at the edges of his coat.

"I'll… do what I can." He didn't like the way she clung to him, looking deeply, almost longingly into his eyes. He took hold of her desperate paws and carefully peeled her away. It was then, as he held her paws in his own that Bo stumbled into view, clutching his head with one paw and gripping the edge of the doorframe with the other to steady himself. Marcy drew back from Reedox, glancing worriedly at her husband.

Bo stared at Reedox, blinking slowly until confusion was replaced by recognition. "Rehhhhd! Zzzit really you?" He took a clumsy step forward, grabbing at the counter, sending a clay plate crashing to the floor. Marcy winced. "Sorry…Ss-s-sorry." His wife stepped forward then, seizing him by the arm and helping him to a chair at the table.

"You shouldn't be up."

"Heard voices." Bo gave Reedox a sorry-looking smile. His front incisors were chipped and his face swollen around puffy, marinated eyes. Reedox was taken aback at how much his friend had changed – almost as much as he had, albeit all self-inflicted. Bo pulled habitually at what remained of his frayed ear tufts. He eyed the bottles along the countertop.

Reedox cleared his throat. "So Marcy tells me you quit the guard."

Bo slowly turned to face his former friend, features knit with dejection. "Can't do it no more."

"That's a shame. You were always one of our best archers. I'd much rather have you at my back than some greenstripe."

Bo suddenly burst into tears, burying his head in his chubby forearms. Reedox looked at Marcy for guidance. She gave him an encouraging gesture. He cleared his throat again.

"But it doesn't matter to me whether you're still part of the guard or not." Reedox reached out a paw to Bo's burly shoulder. "You were always a true friend, and I'm sure _that_ hasn't changed."

Another howl. Reedox grimaced, withdrawing his paw and shaking his head at Marcy. She gave him a pleading look, but Reedox felt hopelessly out of his depth. Whatever connection he had shared with Bo in the past had obviously eroded away. Somehow he was saying all the wrong things.

"You're a good bloke, Burnie," he tried one last time, falling back on Marcy's suggestion. "There's no shame in surviving – especially when you've got a beautiful wife and family that loves you. You can move on. Do it for _them_."

The blubbering continued, unabated. Reedox didn't know what else to say. He missed his friends too, but not to this extent. Was he just that cold-hearted?

"Sorry," he mouthed, shaking his head at Marcy once more as he rose to his feet, backing slowly toward the exit. She put a paw to her mouth and looked away, eyes streaming as her husband continued to wallow in a mixture of tears and drool. Reedox bumped up against the door, scrambling for the pull cord to let himself out. It would be better if he wasn't there.

As he descended, he barely acknowledged Tabitha, distracted and deeply troubled. Bo was a shadow of his former jovial self, and Reedox had returned too late to be any help. Marcy was bailing water from the deck of a half-sunk ship from what he could see. Adding one more beast to bail would only ensure Marcy had someone to cling to when it all finally went down, and that was no way to win a doe. Bo may be beyond hope, but Reedox would never stab a friend in the back like that.

* * *

Almost automatically Reedox drifted toward the main guard station, where things had always been ordered and predictable. The structure was higher than all others, near the top of one of the tallest, sparsest pines. Reedox scurried up the well-traveled trunk, utilizing the occasional climbing spike as he went.

He was met by two guards upon breeching the landing. They were young and unfamiliar. Both squirrels flicked their tails upon sight of him.

"Business?" one demanded shortly.

"I'm here to see the chief."

"Name?"

"Reedox Oakendale."

"Do you have an appointment?" the other squirrel pushed.

"No." Reedox glowered.

The two guards exchanged a few quiet words, then one left while the other kept his spear in active position. It didn't take long for the second guard to return, giving the all clear signal.

Reedox continued up the ladder to the main deck where guards sat around tables at the edges of the training ring. All eyes turned at his appearance, and soon the conversation, games, and sparring bouts came to a halt. Reedox narrowed his eyes at the gawkers. Eventually they returned to business at hand, but a few stepped away to greet the newcomer. Reedox recognized Grompton and Shaw.

"Hey, pal! You look a bit chewed up!"

"Aye. Long story." Reedox bristled.

"Don't tell me you're here to try out for the guard!" Grompton peered curiously, trying to get a better look at Reedox's stump.

"Aye, we're not that desperate," Shaw added.

"It's not up to you, now is it?" Reedox replied coolly. Grompton shrugged and Shaw scowled.

Another familiar squirrel joined them.

"Hey Red. Long time." Twigsworth extended a paw, clapping it heartily against Reedox's. "Heard tell you'd suffered some serious injury and returned half the squirrel you were. Brave effort, making the climb today!" He patted Reedox condescendingly on the shoulder.

Reedox twitched. "Not _that_ great an injury…"

Twigsworth put both paws against his belt, flicking his full, bushy tail. "Come to reminisce about old times with the veterans, have you?"

"I'm here ta see Chief Ashgrave, actually."

"I…see…" Twigsworth grimaced at the other two beasts and they all exchanged dubious looks.

Another squirrel approached, having descended from the upper level. It was Antolle.

"Well now. If it isn't the Red Oak himself." As the squirrel drew near, Grompton and Shaw made space. Reedox noticed a new bar on his uniform. "I was sure when that pirate fox clobbered you that you were finished."

Reedox shook the other squirrel's rough paw with a smirk. "Hoy, Antolle. Aye, my mum always did tell me I had a hard head."

Laughter. Reedox relaxed somewhat.

Antolle jutted out his whiskered chin. "I'm sure the Chief'll be glad to help you work out a retirement deal after all you've…lost for the cause."

"Actually, I'd like to rejoin," Reedox countered.

Antolle raised a brow. A beat of silence passed in which he made eye contact with the others. "Red, no one's going to argue that you weren't a fine fighter in your day, but with your impairment – "

"I'm not impaired," Reedox cut him off.

The other squirrel frowned, clearing his throat. "I see. You fell on purpose then, last night."

Reedox felt a wave of heat raise the fur across his skin. "I'd like to talk to Ashgrave."

Antolle nodded at the ladder, giving his permission. Reedox left his former friends behind, bitterness creeping into his thoughts. He climbed to the upper level and found the chief in his office, going over a map of the forest.

"Oakendale!" He stood, setting his hand magnifier down and moving to meet the ex-soldier. "Pleasure to see you alive, friend. I could hardly believe my ears when Casper reported in."

"Well it's me. In the flesh." Reedox shook the chief's paw, noting the predictable flick of the tail. "And I'd like to rejoin the guard."

Ashgrave grunted and gestured at the chair across from him as he sat back down. Reedox obliged.

"A lot changed after the attack. We don't let just anybeast join the guard anymore. We have stringent tests and physicals to ensure all of our fighters are up to snuff. You of all beasts should recognize the importance of having a trustworthy fighter at your back…"

Reedox thought then of Chak, swinging his axe at the onslaught of pirates charging The _Phantom's_ gangplank. "Aye, but you already _know_ me."

Ashgrave frowned, spinning the magnifier between two fingers. "I thought I knew Burnsweep too."

"Oh come on. All of his mates were killed. Of course he's gonna have issues afterward."

"Burnsweep fled," Ashgrave said bluntly. "Before the fight was over. He still had arrows, even. You might not have been captured if he'd remained."

Reedox felt his mouth go dry.

"I appreciate your dedication, Oakendale, and I'm glad you still wish to offer your services. If you can pass the exams, I'll be happy to add you to my personnel once again." Ashgrove dipped a quill in ink and began to write notes on the map again, signaling their session was at an end. Reedox thanked the chief and departed, his mind in turmoil.

A group of beasts had gathered around Antolle, talking in low whispers. They hushed as Reedox descended back down to their level. He nodded respectfully and continued toward the exit, though his ears burned.

 _Burnsweep fled._ The words echoed in his memory. Perhaps it was more than survivor's guilt that had fueled Bo's slow self-destruction. Yet hadn't even Antolle assumed Reedox was dead? Reedox couldn't blame Bo for getting out of there while he still had a chance. So why did the others? How was Antolle any different for not staying and fighting to the death?

Reedox entered a tavern he used to frequent, desperate for traces of his old comforts. Instead, hostile and disdainful looks greeted him. Even the bartender sneered. Reedox was about to turn and leave when he spotted the familiar, grizzled silhouette of Casper, sitting by himself.

"Mind if I join you?" Reedox approached his former mentor.

The older squirrel gestured at the open spot across from him and Reedox pulled up a chair. He met the gray squirrel's piercing gaze and had to wonder if Casper also knew about his fall the night before.

"I spoke to Ashgrove," he began. Casper sipped at his ale, though his eyes remained attentive. Reedox continued after a pause. "He told me Burnie's a coward – that he fled the scene prematurely. But it doesn't make any sense to me after what you told me about him helping to bring Draymire back. I mean, obviously Antolle left the battle too, yet he's been promoted to district master."

Casper let out a long, growling sigh, shaking his head. "You're right, it don't make a lot o' sense. But somehow Burnie got the blame, and he didn't do much to defend himself."

"He saw all his closest friends slaughtered on the field!" Reedox returned hotly.

"Aye," Casper squinted knowingly, "but Antolle didn't. They were colleagues, but not _friends._ He was able to keep his head."

"Is that the story he tells, then?" Reedox scoffed. "He kept his head while Bo pissed himself and ran?"

"After Draymire died, there were no other witnesses," the gray squirrel muttered. "I'll say one thing for Antolle – he's great at capitalizing on an opportunity."

"So Antolle used Bo as a stepping stone to raise himself up?" Reedox clenched his jaw.

"The townsbeasts needed a scapegoat. Antolle played his cards well and Burnie, well…he was distraught." Casper shrugged. "Blamed himself as much as anyone else."

Reedox ground his molars. "All these seasons. You'd think _someone_ might have stood up for him."

Casper's face darkened at the accusing tone. "Believe me, I tried. Burnie didn't want my sympathy."

Reedox shook his head, scrubbing a paw across his whiskers. "It ain't right."

"I didn't say it was." Casper drained the last of his tankard. "But beasts will believe what they want to believe."

 _"_ _And Bo believes he's to blame for what happened to me too,"_ Reedox realized. It was no wonder the squirrel had not been able to look him in the eye. His very presence brought aggravation rather than relief, like vinegar on a wound.

There was nothing he could do… except, perhaps, work his way up in the guard – regain his former status. If he could counter Antolle's lies – expose him as a fraudulent hero – maybe Burnie's honor could be restored. It was a stretch, but it was something.

* * *

Along the way home Reedox noted the stares, murmurs, and exaggerated avoidance of his fellow woodlanders. He was no longer recognized as Red, the local warrior. He was simply "the beast without a tail." All the squirrelmaids, too, seemed repulsed. Squirrels took a certain pride in the fullness of their tails, after all, often adding extensions and fluffing agents to make them even more impressive. Reedox had never had a very grand tail, but his skill as a guard had won him enough favor in the past to overcome whatever aesthetic deficiencies he might have born. Now that was all forgotten in lieu of his long absence and current appearance. He would have to prove himself all over again.

Once home, his family at least treated him no different than before. His sister still joked with him and his mother made his favorite evening meal, deeper n' ever acorn'n'walnut'n'pine nut pie, with a sweet honey-glazed crust. Reedox found himself weeping at the sight. After years of nothing but gruel and stale, green-tinged water, it was like a slice of heaven. His mother and sister grew quiet and concerned as his shoulders shook and his eyes welled up.

"I just… never thought I'd ever taste this again," he explained, trying to clear his face for their benefit. "It's been a long time." Certainly the food had improved after he and Chak had started traveling together, but there was nothing quite like the flavor of home.

After a few minutes of eating in silence his mother perked up. "So how did it go today?"

Reedox considered his various failures. "Fine."

"Did you get to talk to the Burnsweep lad?"

"Aye." His answer was clipped as he quickly stuffed more pie into his mouth.

Sorrell picked up on his resistant tone more quickly than his mother. Perhaps she had already heard about his less-than-productive visit to Bo's house. Maybe she even knew about his cold reception at the Guard. Such was the nature of living in a small town where everybeast knew every other beasts' business

"I heard Tabitha Burnsweep scored near perfect in the Mossflower Autumn Archery Tournament," Sorrell said, steering the conversation in a different direction. "She's exceeded everyone's expectations. They say she might even join the Guard…"

Reedox tuned his mother and sister out as they continued to chatter, his mind wandering to that fateful afternoon when his team came across the marauding band of pirates, heading straight for the village. He didn't remember Burnie fleeing, but a lot of the battle was a blur in his memory. He'd seen Kent and Weston go down fighting before he was knocked senseless. He remembered waking to find himself bound tightly amidst the remaining gang of looters. He'd been proud to discover they were retreating back to the sea. It meant his unit had succeeded. That was all that had mattered to him then – protecting his village. And the village had carried blithely on without him. No one seemed to recognize that they might just as easily have been in chains these past several years, homes ransacked and burned, and families slain. Reedox's suffering might have been theirs, yet instead of a testament to the price he'd paid on their behalf, they saw his injuries as something shameful and abhorrent.

 _"_ _No matter,"_ the sullen squirrel thought to himself, watching his mother and sister chatting happily at the table as he scooped another spoonful of succulent pie into his mouth. In the end, it was this oak and this family that he had defended. It was their contentment he had sacrificed himself to preserve. And that, at least, was worth it.

* * *

Later that night Reedox woke with a start. He was surrounded by vermin. How had they gotten in? He reached for his knives, but a weasel seized him by the wrists. Then more paws gripped and clawed at him, and Reedox felt the dreadful hopelessness of capture weigh down on him once more. Somebeast threw their arm around his throat in a choke hold and he gasped for air. _Not again! Not again!_ He could hear the rattle of chains as a familiar cat sauntered up, waving a set of manacles.

"Hold him steady, mates. This be a long time comin' fer this 'un." Torin lifted a burning poker out of the fireplace, from beneath Mother's kettle.

"No! You're dead! They told me you were _dead!_ "

Slowly the cat brought the bright-tipped iron to bear on Reedox, who fought desperately against the paws that held him tight.

"No! NO!" They seized his head now, forcing him to watch the approach of the glowing red tip. It would be his eyes this time, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"NO!" he shrieked, freeing an arm just in time to knock the implement away. But it wasn't the hard metal of a poker his paw struck, and instead of the grimy paws of pirates holding him back he found himself instead tangled in a jumble of damp sheets and blankets. A groan rose from the floor and Reedox felt a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach as he leaped free of the bed covers.

"Oh, Mum…" he moaned in horror, bending over the elderly squirrel. "Sorry – sorry – I'm so sorry!" He helped her back to her feet to sit on the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?" She worked her jaw, rubbing at her sore cheek. Reedox motioned for her to stay still. "I'll go fetch a cold cloth." He scurried off and was back in a flash with a dripping wet washrag. "I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry, Mum." He held the cloth out with a shaking paw.

The old squirrel drew his paw close along with the cloth and patted it reassuringly. "Oh, I know. I think I'll be alright, son. Just surprised me is all." She managed a short chuckle.

Reedox noticed a spot of blood on the cloth after she dabbed at her face. "Dark Forest, Mum, you're bleeding!"

"Just cut the inside of my cheek a little, I think."

Reedox pulled at the fur on his head, gritting his teeth. He fell to his knees before his mother, looking up at her pleadingly. "The last thing I ever want is for you to get hurt…" He shook his head, burying his face in her knees.

She stroked his head, avoiding the brand. "Now now, I know it was an accident." She kept the washrag held against her face with the other paw. "I'll just have to remember to wake you from the other end of a long pole from now on!"

Reedox choked on a sob.

* * *

Breakfast was quiet. Sorrell took over tea preparation as Mrs. Oakendale treated her swollen face with a roll of cotton soaked in witch hazel. Reedox sat bent over his plate of berry nut hash, poking a raisin around in circles and avoiding all attempts at eye contact.

Sorrell tried to draw him out as she placed a steaming pot of licorice tea on the table. "We know it wasn't on purpose, Dox. Beating yourself up isn't going to help anyone."

Reedox maintained his silence.

"You've been through a lot. I can't even begin to imagine what it must have felt like. Stuff like that…it's hard to get over, I'm sure."

Reedox glared up at her suddenly from beneath the ugly X brand. "You're right. You have no idea."

"Help us understand then! We're your family – we'll help you get past it."

Reedox barked a curt laugh. "You really believe that?" He seized the raisin between two fingers and narrowed his eyes at his sister, squeezing the guts messily out of the wrinkled piece of fruit. Jelly oozed down his fist. "This isn't like a bad case of the sniffles, Sory. Some kinds of damage…there ain't no coming back from." He opened his paw to reveal the pulp within, then rubbed it off onto a piece of toast.

Sorrell frowned, then snatched up the toast and took a bite. "Mmm! Still tastes like a raisin to me." She licked her lips.

Reedox sighed. "The point is," he lowered his voice, "I might not ever get past this." He met his mother's eyes briefly, apologetically. "I believe a lot of what happened to me did make me stronger and a better fighter… but it didn't make me safe." He set his jaw, staring down at his plate once more. "Which is why I've got to try for the guard. I'm not sure I can do anything else."

His mother bobbed her head. "Well. If you're heading out to be tested, you ought to at least eat your breakfast." She wagged a claw at him, "Remember, 'better breakfast better brain.'" She quoted the old adage as if Reedox had not heard it a thousand times already. He managed a short smile, and resignedly tucked in.

After breakfast and well-wishes, Reedox hiked over to the Guards' testing arena to register. He waited for his name to be called, then followed a uniformed squirrel to a small room with a barren white table at the center. He had expected weapons and obstacles, but instead a tall squirrel in a white apron gestured for him to sit atop the table.

"This is the physical exam. We test everything from eyesight to reflexes here," the assessor explained. Reedox tensed as the squirrel approached him. "First is the pelt exam. If you wouldn't mind, removing your garments…" Reedox sighed and followed the examiner's instructions as he poked, prodded and scrutinized every inch of his body. Notations were made with a quill on parchment, then the assessor had Reedox get dressed again. He tested his eyes and reflexes by having him catch objects using only peripheral vision, then brought out a large scale with measured sacks to gauge his weight. Last, he had Reedox stand on one footpaw, and touch his nose, then pull himself up onto a hanging bar from the ceiling. It all seemed rather random to Reedox, and he was glad when it was all over and he was moved to the next stage where the expected maze of branches and targets waited to measure his accuracy, balance, and celerity.

Reedox selected a set of daggers and crouched, readying for the director's signal. A bell sounded and he set off at a sprint, slashing swinging sandbags and dodging poles, imagining pirates and spears lunging for him in the midst of battle. He sliced through ropes before the dummies could even activate and danced along the network of limbs, ducking and leaping obstacles and flying projectiles until he skidded to a stop at the end, heaving at the exertion. Sand spilled slowly from dangling sacks and a dummy rocked back and forth with a dagger through its chest as he looked to the stunned expression of the time-keeper. A satisfied grin spread slowly across Reedox's face. _Let all doubt be put to rest._

"Please wait here." The director gestured before stepping out a back door. Reedox leaned against the wall, doing small tricks with the daggers to entertain himself. After a while he slid down to a squat, bored. He wondered what was taking so long. Finally, a stony-faced guard appeared, holding a parchment pinned to a flat bark board. He nodded at Reedox who stood to meet him.

"I'm Captain Fortingall. Typically after a performance such as yours I would be introducing you to the next barrage of tests – resourcefulness, knowledge of local terrain, and fortitude."

He paused and Reedox narrowed his eyes. "But."

"But it seems you failed the physical." The captain looked professionally regretful.

"You must be jesting." One edge of Reedox's mouth curled, though his eyes remained serious.

"I'm afraid not. For a beast of your height and age, you seem to be a shade too underweight. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you don't qualify."

Reedox's eyes narrowed further into mere slits. "I don't _weigh_ enough."

"That's right."

"Codswallop." Reedox felt the heat rise in his face. "Weight has nothing to do with effectiveness."

The captain frowned. "Your performance has been impressive, I admit, but we have certain basic parameters that must be met."

"Like having a tail," Reedox accused.

Fortingall's nostrils flared. "Watch yourself, Mr. Oakendale. Insubordination is not tolerated in this line of work."

Reedox continued to push. "So if I go home and gorge myself on enough pies and fried apples you'll open the doors to the next level of tests?"

"It's not that simple," the captain answered through gritted teeth. "You'd have to be completely reassessed."

"I suppose then I'd be too bloated or maybe 'not furry enough,'" Reedox flared.

Captain Fortingall's hackles started to rise. "You're crossing the line…"

"Does it matter? Look, I just _showed_ you what I'm capable of, yet somehow it's not enough. I think all of you expected me to fail, but when I didn't, you fell back on some trifling detail that anyone with any measure of sway could have easily waived. This isn't about whether I'm fit enough to be a guard. It's about whether the guard thinks I _fit in_. The others aren't comfortable around me. Simple as that."

The captain said nothing. Deep down, Reedox wished he would argue. He didn't want it to be true. But at the same time, he knew he could never work alongside a group of beasts who treated him as a liability. Fortingall opened a nearby door that led to an exitway.

"You're dismissed."

* * *

Outside there was a stir amongst the villagers. Reedox tried to ignore the ruckus, but was pulled from his angry reverie by the sound of a familiar name, spoken loudly by a squirrel chatting up a customer at a nearby pasty cart. He approached the pudgy merchant boldly.

"What did you just say about Bo Burnsweep?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" The salesman took a pair of tongs and turned a row of crisping pastries. "Took a nosedive off a three-story landing late last night. There's talk it might've been a suicide attempt."

The waiting customer waved a dismissive paw at the cook. "Bah, everyone knows Burnsweep's a drunk. He probably thought he was going to the loo!"

Reedox felt his insides lurch. "Is…is he dead?"

"Not just yet." The merchant poked nonchalantly at his goods, checking their progress. "But he might as well be from what I hear."

Reedox took off at a run. He sprinted across town until he reached the ancient chestnut tree, staring up the trunk at the crowded gathering up top. He had one paw on the bark when a voice accosted him from behind.

"What did you say to him?" It was Tabitha. She held her bow with an arrow notched, as though seeking a target.

Reedox shook his head. "I…no – I just told him he was a good friend is all. Nothing that should've sent him over the edge like that…" Or maybe that _was_ it. Reedox hadn't known the whole story at the time. Now that he thought back on the conversation… reminding Bo how much he had depended on him and how he had trusted him certainly would not have alleviated his feelings of guilt.

"You show up in the morning, Bo goes to pieces. Then he falls that very evening. You don't think there's any connection?" Tabitha's fur stood out as she eyed him nastily.

Reedox just kept shaking his head, backing slowly away from the tree and Bo's sister. How could so much go so wrong so fast? He turned and walked away, half expecting an arrow to land between his stiff shoulders. It would be a fitting conclusion to his home-coming experience.

* * *

The hardest part of leaving was saying goodbye to his mother. Reedox reassured himself that he would return often to visit, but away from home, seasons always seemed to pass by so fast.

He sensed a measure of relief mixed with their sadness as his mother and sister helped him pack, despite outward assertions that they wanted him to stay. They had grieved for him already, after all, and they had both grown accustomed to life without him. They filled his satchel with goodies and little keepsakes, as well as parchment and ink with which to write home.

Before he left, his mother tried again to convince him to stay, insisting that they could all adapt and she loved him no matter what.

"I love you too, Mum." He stroked her fur smooth where it stuck up around the edge of the bandage on her face. "Which is one reason I'm going. I would only be a burden on you both if I stayed."

He left the oak once again, knowing this time, at least, that he wasn't returning anytime soon.

* * *

It took another half day to reach the border of Fariby. Reedox felt suddenly anxious that Chak might have left already, but the squirrel chose not to dwell on the possibility until he reached the empty dock space where the cutter used to be tied. He stared at the water blankly, disappointment flooding in.

How could he miss the company of that oaf? And where had he expected they would go anyway? Their journey together was over. He had eaten more than enough fishy gruel to quash any further craving for sea life, and that's surely where Chak would be headed next.

He sighed. Of course, it wasn't the ocean or the free-roaming lifestyle he sought. Of all beasts, it was Chak who now understood him best. It was Chak who saw past the marred face and missing tail to the warrior beneath. And it was Chak who sought his approval and advice. Could he actually be called a friend? Reedox shuddered, remembering the barbarism of the driver's beatings, the bruises and the humiliation. True, he was a different beast now, but there were still those moments when they were traveling together when Chak seemed to revert somewhat – usually when they disagreed about something important. It took all of the otter's strength to keep from regressing to his violent old habits then.

"Mayhaps it's for the best," Reedox told himself, turning back down the pier. A grizzled muskrat hailed him from a small guardpost shelter. Reedox recognized him as the guard they had paid to watch the ship.

"Are ya lookin' fer that cutter what were there a day ago?" he called.

"Aye!" Reedox shouted back.

"They've taken it to the _im_ -pound." The muskrat gestured with a thumb over his shoulder.

Reedox squinted at the old geezer. "What? Why?"

The muskrat shrugged. "Search me, matey. But the law's the law. Weren't much I could do 'bout it now, were there?"

Reedox rubbed at his chin, then headed for the city center. If the cutter was being held by the local authorities, Chak was still around, and likely in some sort of trouble.

Evening was getting on as Reedox approached the tall building where the locals directed him. Guards actively entered and exited a set of doors at the front, and Reedox pushed his way tentatively through to a large, open-spaced room filled with a variety of beasts sitting at desks, waiting in chairs along the walls, and inhabiting a long row of cells at the back. Guards patrolled and talked in clusters around watering stations, and escorted the occasional beast in chains.

The squirrel felt trapped and threatened just being there, as if he might accidentally say or do something wrong and get thrown in a cell himself. But no one bothered him until a bespectacled rabbit called out to him from behind a rounded desk.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes…" Reedox hurried up to the secretary, folding his paws across the desktop. "I'm looking for a friend. Chak Ku'rill."

"Ku-rill, Ku-rill," the rabbit flipped through a notebook, running a long, painted claw across a list of names. "Ah yes. Here he is. Please fill out this form." She pushed a barkboard toward him with an official-looking slip of paper pinned to it.

Reedox scribbled down his name and information with a stubby quill, wondering in the back of his mind what they would do with it, then returned the form and feather to the secretary. She nodded at the back row of steel bars.

"He should be in number six. Visits are limited to twenty minutes."

Reedox nodded and made his way back to the ominous row of cells. Eyes glinted at him and paws gestured at him from inside, but he halted only when he stood under the cell marked "6." A shape lay in the dark shadows beyond, curled on a thin straw mat.

"Chak?"

The figure sat up with a start, staring at him in stunned silence a moment before replying. "Reed?" It was Chak's voice. He rose stiffly to his feet, looming up to his full height and met the squirrel at the bars.

"I was sure me eyes were playin' tricks on me…" Light illuminated the otter's grizzled appearance. "Yer sure a sight fer sore eyes."

"Don't tell me you're _suffering_ in there."

"Aye," growled the sea otter. "Ain't ne'er been this bored in me life. 'Ow'd ye find me?"

"Nevermind that. How in the blazes did you end up in here?"

Chak grew quiet and the truth came to Reedox in a hurry.

"You told them who you were, didn't you." He scowled.

Chak shook his head. "Nay, it weren't like afore. They guessed it some'ow. Er t'least…Salina did. She be out fer me hide, I tell ye."

"A relative of Nimbleton's?"

"Not e'en. She be an old friend o' 'is. An otter e'en, if ye cain believe that."

"Tell me what happened." Reedox crossed his arms and leaned against the bars as Chak related the entire ordeal and how at the end Salina had outted him in front of everyone, calling for his arrest.

"We seemed ta be gettin' along so well afore too. But now she hates me. I jus' don' know 'ow ta make it right." The otter sighed forlornly.

"What about the Pronèles? Have they said anything?" Reedox shifted his stance though his arms remained crossed.

Chak shook his head. "Not a word. I jus' been sittin' in 'ere fer the las' sev'ral days." Chak stroked his fraying moustache. "What about ye? What brings ye back so soon?"

Reedox looked away. "It…didn't work out."

A lanky hare in uniform approached them then, holding a sophisticated-looking club with a carved handle and smooth, gleaming surface. He slapped it against his open palm.

"Time's up."

Reedox acknowledged the hare with a nod. "I'll find out what's going on. See if I can talk to Nimbleton's family in the morning."

Chak nodded. "Thankee."

The otter was still looking after him even as he pushed through the front doors. Reedox set his jaw as he strode determinedly across the street. This time he wouldn't be too late to help a friend.

* * *

The next day the squirrel found himself at the edge of a magnificent garden, looking up at an intimidatingly large mansion.

"Nimbleton, who woulda known you were such a blinking nob…"

He looked down at a row of delicate white flowers, waving in the cool autumn breeze, oblivious to the world's troubles – here today and gone with tomorrow's frost. His sharp ears swiveled at a sound to his right and he turned to see an ottermaid sitting under a tree, plucking a yellow flower apart, petal by petal. He glared at her. She frowned back.

"You're Salina, aren't you?" Reedox growled.

She shrugged.

"Chak told me about you."

"Who are _you_ , some pirate friend of his?" She hardly looked at him, baring her teeth as she tore the last petal free.

"My name's Reedox. I was a slave like Nimbleton. We were friends."

"That's what he said before his story fell apart."

"Can you blame him? Look what you did when you found out he was the slave driver. You don't even know what he's been through to get here."

The ottermaid jerked a leaf from the stem and dropped it to the ground. "Your _friend_ shouldn't get away with what he did, even if he regrets it."

The fur along Reedox's back rose. "You think you have more cause to hate him than I do?"

She cast him a narrow glance before turning back to her small destruction.

"You have no idea how many times I stood over him with a blade in the night, ready to sink it into his bastard heart." The squirrel made a fist. "He used to beat me as a slave. More than any of the others. But you know what stopped me from becoming a murderer?"

The ottermaid paused, listening, though she did not meet his eyes.

"Nimbleton."

She looked up then.

"And Nimbleton turned out to be right, much as I didn't want him to be. If it wasn't for Chak, I'd be dead ten times over."

"Well he didn't save _my_ life. I don't owe him anything. He's the one that robbed _us._ "

Reedox caught sight of another beast standing nearby and did a double take before recognizing it as a statue. He studied the mouse with the scales, wondering whether it was meant to look like Nimbleton.

"If Nimbleton were here, do you think he'd agree?"

The ottermaid followed his gaze to the statue. "This sculpture stands for justice. Harlan and Calla had it commissioned a year after Nim's disappearance. We all wanted _justice_."

"It doesn't look much like him," Reedox noted.

"No. It doesn't," the otter admitted.

"Maybe the statue of _Amity_ does." Reedox drew nearer.

"There isn't one." She turned away, hunching her shoulders. The squirrel joined the otter under the tree, crossing his arms over his knees.

Salina considered him, her gaze settling on the ugly X-brand. "Did he do that…to your face?"

Reedox shook his head. "No. That happened later in Blade's mountain fortress. Same beast that took my tail. I heard Chak tossed him into a crowd of angry slaves who finished him off before we made our escape. For being a slave driver, he has a pretty strict sense of justice. I think it's why he's so determined to try to make amends." He turned to the ottermaid. "You know, he visited over fifty different families before coming here. All the slaves that perished aboard the ship – he's tracked down each of their families one by one over the course of two seasons."

"That's… a lot." Salina wrapped the bare flower stem around one finger, staring absently at it for a long moment. Then her muzzle wrinkled and she shook her head with a snort. "Doesn't make up for him being a slave driver in the first place. What kind of beast chooses an occupation like that anyway? Not a fair-minded one."

"From what I understand, he didn't exactly choose to become a driver. It was just better than being a slave. He was trapped in the system himself, I think. Until the island."

She eyed the squirrel suspiciously. "I thought he made up that bit about being a slave."

"No, he was a slave most of his life before becoming a driver. Nineteen years I think is what he said. So he'd seen a lot of injustice, and he _thought_ he was being fair toward us." Reedox gnawed at his lip. "And as hard as it is to admit, I probably wouldn't have survived under another slave driver. I kind of… wanted to die. I couldn't stand being a slave. I fought him in everything. I blamed him for keeping me there, just like you blame him now for keeping Nimbleton enslaved." The squirrel took in the peace of the garden surrounding him, savoring the fresh, flower-scented air and the soft swish of leaves above his head. "I didn't realize what he'd been through himself and where he was coming from. I didn't want to. I just wanted him to hurt like he hurt me."

"What kept you from killing him after Nimbleton was gone then?" Salina had dropped the remnants of the flower and seemed less agitated now.

Reedox shrugged. "Circumstance mainly. Plus the memory of my last conversation with Nimbleton. We were captured by the mongoose natives not long after Nimbleton's death. Chak stopped them from killing me. I'm still not sure why, because I sure as 'gates wouldn't've stopped them killing him." Reedox pulled at a loose thread on his coat sleeve where a button used to be. "Maybe he still saw me as his responsibility." He rubbed at his whiskers, wriggling his nose and snuffing his nostrils clear.

The ottermaid watched the clouds drifting lazily across the sky. "You said he freed more slaves?"

"Aye. Or at least all that were left in the mountain. Blade had over half of them killed before he left in his ship. Hundreds and hundreds. It's what made Chak go after him. Otherwise I don't think he would have. Chak has no allegiances to the mainland. He's not a woodlander. But I think he has a greater allegiance to justice, ironic as you may find that idea. And freedom, once he figured out that it could be had."

The otter stroked the grass in front of her, watching it spring back resiliently. "I think…maybe we should go talk to the Pronèles."

Reedox watched her get to her feet. She looked down at him, sadness in her dark brown eyes.

"Things aren't always as black and white as we'd like to believe, are they?"

"No. And Chak's about as gray as you can get."

She nodded and the squirrel stood up to join her as they made their way up to the mansion.

* * *

The Pronèles were surprisingly open-minded, considering that they were the ones responsible for Chak's current imprisonment. As it turned out, it was respect for Salina's feelings more than anger or bitterness that had kept the slave driver behind bars. The mice had been reluctant to pursue the case further, recognizing that vengeance would never bring their son back, nor alleviate their sorrow.

Reedox marveled at the two older mice. "I see now, why Nimbleton was the way he was. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Mr. Pronèle gave the squirrel a warm, sad smile. "I was not always so forgiving, son. I think often that it was more he and his mother who influenced me. I would never have pursued something as impractical as the dramatic arts, for example, because I saw no real-world advantage in it. Nimbleton, however, expanded his social circles significantly in just such a manner, and was able to accomplish far more than I ever did at his age with mere gold."

Salina nodded. "He wished to view the world from as many perspectives as he could, taking on a variety of character roles and going to great lengths to understand them. It's how I think he became involved more with the verminfolk. He was going to play a sea rat, and we think that he got a little too friendly with the wrong types."

"It's partially my fault, I'm sure," Mrs. Pronèle closed her eyes. "I always told Nimbleton that beneath our fur we're all alike, and oft what separates us is simply our experiences."

Reedox sighed. "Well there's certainly truth to that notion. In fact, I'd say it's that very idea that allowed Nimbleton to see deeper into other beasts, which is lucky for both Chak and me. I swear, if there'd been a way, I think either one of us would have gladly thrown ourselves between him and those bolts…which is strange to consider since Chak and I both despised each other at the time." Reedox shook his head. "Nimbleton has always been that voice of encouragement in both our heads."

"All our heads," Salina added.

The two mice nodded, and after a moment of silence Mr. Pronèle stood. "I will write a message to the constable that should grant your friend's release. Just bring it to the municipal station."

Reedox rose, thanking the mouse, and Salina stood up beside him. As Mr. Pronèle wrote his note, she stammered in a low voice, "If…if it's alright, I'd like to accompany you. I feel I owe Chak an apology. I should have given him more of a chance to explain." She chewed her lip self-consciously, eyes lowered to the floor.

"I think he'd appreciate that," Reedox answered.

* * *

It wasn't long before the squirrel and otter found themselves at the doors to the guard station and pushed their way through. Salina seemed to slow as Reedox hopped eagerly forward, passing the note off to an official and craning his neck to look for Chak.

"Wait here," the badger official ordered.

Reedox ducked his head in acknowledgement, and did his best to stay put in spite of the energy he felt. Had he a tail it would have been twitching spastically. He was proud to have made such a difference in such a short amount of time, and his confidence had returned afresh.

Salina, on the other hand, looked slightly sick with trepidation, wringing her paws as she waited. If Reedox had been a different beast, he might have offered words of encouragement or a reassuring pat, but Reedox was himself, and so he kept to himself, bobbing slightly on his toes until the badger returned.

"Looks like your pal's been released. Have him show this ticket to the guard at the impound to release his vessel." He handed Reedox a stub of paper, then gestured at a uniformed shrew, "Deputy Gompf will escort you."

They followed the short, shuffling figure toward the back of the building until they reached cell six again. Chak was lying on his mattress, staring idly up at the ceiling when the rattle of keys caught his attention. Spotting the two familiar beasts, he jumped quickly to his feet, hurrying over to meet them at the iron bars. The shrew guard pulled the door open, flipped his keys back to his belt, and stepped aside. Chak blinked at the open door for a moment, then tentatively stepped through.

"Be this meanin'… I'm free ta go?" He looked between Reedox and the shrew, as though there might be some trick still to avoid.

Reedox couldn't help but smile for once. "Aye! Pull anchor and heave ho, mate!"

The guard grunted and handed Chak his satchel and dirk.

Chak's face split into a wide grin and he clapped the squirrel heartily on the shoulder. "Yarrrr! I dunno what ye did, chum, but thankee muchly!"

"I just cleared the fog a bit with Salina." Reedox jutted his chin at the ottermaid, putting her on the spot.

She winced noticeably, then drew herself upright, taking a deep breath. "I – I owe you an apology." Her eyes blinked rapidly as she looked to the grimy stone floor. "I made a snap judgement that wasn't fair."

Chak breathed deeply and nodded. "Apology accepted. I'm glad ye feel that way. Now whaddaya say we go grab ourselves some drinks an' viddles an' leave this bilge barrel in our wake?" He glanced at the shrew guard, "Er…no offense."

The shrew guard growled and lumbered off with a dismissive wave. "Exit's that way."

Salina seemed taken aback by Chak's quick reply and followed the two friends dumbly out the front. She lagged behind, brow knitted with consternation until Chak waved her forward to walk beside them.

"'Ave ye a tavern ta recommend?"

"I uh… alright. How about Hotroot Haven? It's not too far from here."

"Jus' point the way, lass." Chak winked.

She lifted a claw and Chak set off, humming something off-key, yet distinctly cheerful.

Reedox smirked at the ottermaid's obvious dismay and slowed to meet her stunted pace. "I know you think you really caused Chak some sort of harm, but we've been through so much… " He shook his head, "A few days in the brig don't even really register, I'm sure." The squirrel lowered his voice and added in an aside, "I think it's more your rejection that hurt him than anything else, truth be told." He shrugged and hurried to catch up, leaving a stunned Salina to gape after him. After a moment she rejoined the duo, directing them down the next street and beyond until at last they reached the busy little tavern.

The workers greeted Salina with familiarity and found her a comfortable, private table in the back to share lunch with the sea otter and squirrel. Soup was brought out and tankards filled so that soon they were left to themselves. Chak slurped and guzzled his soup with the manners one might expect from a beast deprived of civilization. Reedox nudged him when Salina stopped eating to stare.

Chak grimaced, then chuckled. "Prime stuff, this. Sorry if I seem in a rush…" He shrugged sheepishly, swiping a paw across his dripping chin.

"On the ship and in the mine, we had a limited amount of time to finish our gruel," Reedox clarified. "Though we were hungry enough most of the time that no limit was necessary. By the time the last slaves were served, the first were usually finished."

Chak nodded, grateful for the squirrel's support. "Aye, old 'abits die 'ard I serpose."

Salina gave a nod of her own. "I understand. Experience shapes us all." She met Reedox's eyes for the briefest moment before returning her attention to the bowl in front of her.

Reedox relaxed. The squirrel felt oddly protective of Chak now, after all he had been through back home. Having someone to call friend was important. He would help Chak in his efforts to make a better impression with the ottermaid, but only if Salina treated him right.

"Do you…intend to stay in the area after this?" she queried after a time.

Chak sat back, chewing on a bulrush. "Not sure. I ain't 'zactly cut out ta be a woodlander. I were born on the water, an' me crib were a bed o' kelp." He ran a claw between his molars and studied the bit of green he found there before licking it back off his finger. "Fariby be a decent seaport though. I wouldn' mind makin' it me anchorpoint…long as I bain't unwelcome."

Salina sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry we got off to such a sour start." She knotted her fingers together. "I… was just so angry at you…for deceiving me."

Chak nodded, propping his elbows against the smooth wood of the table. "Aye, sorry fer that. I tried bein' more truthful with some o' the other families an' it turned out…poorly."

Reedox raised a brow at the otter's word choice. "They ran us out of town with rocks and bricks." He took a swig of beer at the memory. Salina put a paw to her mouth.

"It were important ta me ta not spoil the chance ta learn more about Nimbleton." Chak added. "It were nice ta 'ear ye talk about 'im an' 'ow things were afore. T'were like I were part o' the crew for a mo' thar." Chak gave her a wistful smile.

For a moment, the three were silent, and an awkwardness quickly settled over the table. Reedox became very interested in his beer and Chak poked at a round onion rolling around at the bottom of his bowl.

"So..." Salina began, "What _really_ happened?" She set her spoon aside and folded her fingers together expectantly.

Chak leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing. "Well, 'sides leavin' out me own part in it all, I told ye true the first time."

"Then tell me your part. How did you go from 'cruel, slave-beating pirate' to this saintly 'wanting to meet and apologize to all the families of the dead' character?" Salina pushed. "I told you I thought I acted too rashly when I called for your imprisonment, and I'm willing to hear you out, but I need to know the _whole_ truth. All of it. No censoring." She cut a sweeping gesture through the air.

Chak glanced at Reedox, then gave a curt nod. "A'right…"

The clamor of the tavern beyond faded as the lunch hour passed and the sea otter related the tale again, this time from his own perspective. He hesitated often at the harsher parts, but with a nudge from Reedox, he would grit his teeth and continue, sparing no detail.

Salina absorbed it all stoically at first, asking questions flatly and often glancing at Reedox for confirmation. Soon, however, her disposition changed. As Chak told of the Dead Rock, she leaned forward intently, caught up in the telling, and only looked to Reedox once or twice. He could see her becoming more and more engrossed in the sea otter's story, and after a time her questions began to revolve less around events that took place, and more around Chak himself. Soon Reedox began to feel very much like the odd beast out.

As Chak finished recounting the tale of his dive into the wreck of the _Zephyr_ with the ever-looming presence of the blindfolded badgerlord, Reedox finished off his third beer and leaned back, shoving his paws in his pockets where a small piece of stiff paper pricked at his skin. He pulled the ticket out and studied it, remembering at last what it was for.

"Oh." He held up the ticket. "Chak. We should probably get the cutter out of the impound so we have a place to sleep tonight." He pushed his seat back from the table, ready to move on.

"Arrrr. Yer prob'ly right…" Chak took another casual sip of ale before turning back to Salina. "'Ow d'ye feel about boats, lass?"

She shrugged. "I don't get to sail very often, despite living in a port town. I do gigs on entertainment ships sometimes."

"I'd be 'appy ta take ye out fer a ride if ye like," Chak suggested. "Unless, o' course, ye 'ave summat a'ready planned fer the afternoon?"

"Today?" The ottermaid seemed surprised. Apparently this was another unexpected breach of etiquette. She considered his offer thoughtfully. "I have practice in the evening, but I guess I've some hours free until then."

Chak grinned and stood. "Well then. Let's be loosin' ourselves a cutter! I'll show ye the ropes." He finished off his tankard in one long gulp, and insisted on paying for everything.

Reedox sighed inwardly as they departed the tavern all together. Chak's attraction was painfully obvious, but it was still discouraging to be bumped aside so soon as a third wheel.

"I'll be glad ta see water again, t'least." Chak was saying. "Ain't 'ad a good swim in days. I feel ripe as a ferret in rut!" He straightened his belt with a chuckle and Salina flushed. The sea otter sauntered on, oblivious to the inappropriateness of his comment, and Reedox realized that despite shunting him off for the afternoon, Chak was going to need him more than ever.

And he would be there.


End file.
